Some Like it Hot
by Withered Quill
Summary: With Voldemort on the rise, sixth year potions, and quidditch, Harry hasn't got time for girls. But what happens when he can't help but notice Ginny's all grown up, and finds himself drawn to her? Strap in for a bumpy ride of chaos and hilarity. PRE HBP
1. Comin' out of her cage

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to J.K. Rowling.

A.N.: This started out as a one-shot, but I'll probably chapter it 6/7 or so. This is my first real project since the termination of my account, so I'm excited to get started again.

This chapter is dedicated to H/G writer **Concealed**. Read her stuff! (Every chapter will be dedicated to a writer/reviewer who brightens my day. You could be the next!)

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"So who was your best?"

"Snog? Mmmm . . . either Abott or Weasley."

Harry Potter stopped dead in his tracks, his broom nearly slipping out of his fingers. Nearly, of course, because stone, granite floor isn't especially kind to brooms, (especially one so cared for as his), and more importantly, the loud clanging sound the broomstick made would have alerted his presence to the boys he was now shamefully eavesdropping on.

He instantly recognized their voices: Dean Thomas, who Harry had previously considered a decent bloke and Michael Corner, who Harry really didn't know anything about except that he was in Ravenclaw.

But . . . their best snog? **Ron?** Weasley? As in Ron Weasley? Was there more than one? What in the name of . . . ? He shuddered. _Ron_. His best mate. _Ron . . . _

"Oh, Merlin, mate. I almost forgot . . . you dated her for a while didn't you?"

**_Her?_** What the . . . ? And then Harry remembered, sighing in relief. There was a "her" Weasley that he had forgotten about. He shook his head, the panic in his body now subsiding. Absurd really — to think that Ron was . . . And then, the boy performed a picture-perfect double take. _Wait a minute_ . . . "Her" meant Ginny Weasley. He frowned, indignant.

First of all, Ginny wasn't . . . er, well . . . she wasn't . . . something. Yeah. Ginny wasn't the type of girl whose kissing just shouldn't be talked about. Ever. In fact, Ginny kissing anybody irritated him. Harry wasn't quite sure why a normal teenage boy's conversation about a girl got him so riled up, but . . . Ginny Weasley deserved better. Harry knew that, at least.

"Oh yeah. Ginny Weasley. Merlin, she had _all_ the right moves."

The wizard froze, pressing himself up against the stone wall. He mentally reprimanded himself for his actions. Honestly, what was he — a petty first year who felt compelled to hear what other people said? Still, the boy was held captive against his will, more than entranced by the conversation in process just around the corner. These boys were cutting up one of his friends. Or, friend by association, at least.

Harry meant to leave. He was on his way to the quidditch pitch for practice and would be late if he listened to much more. But somehow, his shoes had been replaced with lead, and he couldn't make himself move.

He heard Michael, (or perhaps it was Dean?) give a low whistle of appreciation. "She knew what she was doing, I'll give her that."

Harry suddenly had the overwhelming desire to go over there and give Corner the beating of his life. At the same time, a very small part of him was fascinated at this information. Yes, they were discussing his best mate's little sister like the centerfold of Playwizard, which was utterly revolting, but Harry couldn't help the spark of curiosity that ignited within him.

He supposed he had unconsciously noticed that of course Ginny had grown up, (as everyone does) and was entitled to kiss whomever she chose, but was unprepared for this.

Hadn't he noticed the growing number of boys that clamored for her attention after quidditch practice? Apparently not. But she was, after all, their newest (and best, if he were honest with himself) chaser, and did look quite good riding a broomstick . . .

At the same time, the boy made a face; this was the little girl who used to yelp and run away whenever she saw him, for goodness sake! The very idea of Ginny Weasley as someone he could . . . think about in, well . . . _that_ way was repulsive. For the love of Merlin, she was Ron's baby sister!

Emphasis on _baby_. Yeah, in fact, what year was she? Third?

**Fifth**. Oh. Well, that didn't count.

Er — _yeah_.

"Ginny was by far the hottest, come to think. She kisses like . . . like a _nymphomaniac_ on death row."

_Nymphomaniac on death row . . ._

"So, did you ever—?"

"Hell no! I tried to feel her up one night and she punched me in the face. Most painful right hook I think I've ever had. Was black and blue for days. And then we were over." He paused, sighing nostalgically, and Harry leaned closer, raptly listening. "Worst loss ever. She had _nice_ lips. Nice everything, come to think."

Harry felt an unexplainable surge of pride for the witch. _Way to go, Gin!_ At least she hadn't . . . with Thomas. He sighed, not sure why that would have upset him so much.

"Bloody tease. What a whore."

"She was hot. Too good for me though. And I think she was always hung up on Potter."

Harry started, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and mouth.

"No. I doubt it. She gave up on him long ago. Damned idiot. Cho said he's more than a bit daft when it comes to girls."

"Oh yeah. You guys are still going out. What's she like?"

"Honestly? . . . She's got nothing on Weasley. That girl's got passion that'll rip you down, and burn yoursmoldering carcass. Cho's normal. She's got chemistry, and is pretty hot but it's nothing like the fervor that Weasley had."

Harry felt sick. He leaned against the stone wall, breathing slowly. His stomach gave a funny flip. He so desperately wanted to never have heard that. To never have listened, and never be haunted by the image of Ginny and Corner shacking it up in a deserted hallway.

Harry forced a mild smile and rounded the corner, barely pausing to mutter a quick "'lo" as he passed the pair of boys. He bounded out of Hogwarts castle, onto the quidditch pitch, thankful for the distraction.

As he neared the field, Harry stopped mid-stride for the second time that afternoon. _Ginny was on the Gryffindor quidditch team_. He looked ahead, and sure enough, about 500 yards away, clad in stunning (_where did that come from?_) crimson robes, standing with the rest of the team, the youngest Weasley was smirking down the field at him.

He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Honestly a bit of gossip about his best mate's sister, baby sister, for Merlin's sake shouldn't be enough to rattle him. Still, Harry couldn't deny that the encounter had numbed him, to be sure.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately?) those thoughts were violently shoved out of his mind when Ron, wearing an expression oddly similar to his mother's when she had first learned of the twins' joke shop, marched up to him, index finger jamming into his chest and demanded an explanation for his "unprofessional, slackering, lateness that deprecates the entire team!"

"Run in with Snape," he lied quickly, hoping Ron would pass off his fierce blush as embarrassment, because at that moment, he caught Ginny's eye. Ron gave him an understanding look, all the while muttering about his first year as captain, and how the players were weren't committed.

Harry mutely followed, walking in line with the rest of the team, trying very hard to avoid their latest player. Unfortunately, said player took the opportunity to elbow him in the ribs and congratulate him on managing to force Ron into "yet another conniption fit. Fred and George would be so proud."

He smiled lamely, the words of Dean running through his mind like a badly broken record. Harry looked down, tearing his eyes away form what they had been unwittingly doing: that is, studying every inch of Ginny's profile. Her nose was quite pretty, a little turned up at the end; and, unlike the lanky beak that overtook so much of her brother's face, it suited her perfectly.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ginny asked.

Harry gulped, praying she didn't notice the burning blush that was threatening to cover his entire face. _Did she just bat her eyes?_ But no . . . Ginny's visage remained puzzled and innocent.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Ookay."

How could he not have noticed the color of her hair was so much more . . . _demure_ than Ron's? (Or any other Weasley's for that matter) How did he miss the open mischievousness of her smile, or the way she carried herself so much more — femine-like than Ron? How did he miss the faint accent of her cheekbones that blended with her freckles in a way Ron's never could? Why hadn't he noticed before (as he subtlety moved closer to inhale) the sweet scent of perfume that lingered around her person?

And for a crazy moment, Harry knew exactly why she guys like Michael and Dean liked her. He found it not at all hard to believe that Ginny would be wild in a closet . . .

The team gathered around the center of the pitch, while Ron drawled on about the strategies they would attempt this practice. Harry put his best occlumacy skills to practice. The question was: why in the name of Britain, was this happening to him? He didn't even like her! He wasn't even attracted to her! She was barely more than the little girl he had saved so many years ago.

Harry chanced another quick glance to his left, capturing Ginny in his vision. Fate had decided to screw with his mind, he decided, which was the cause for the blustery weather that had pressed Ginny's robes against her body, conforming to her every curve and presenting her figure in a light Harry didn't think Ron would approve of.

In seemingly no time, said brother blew his new whistle, signaling practice to start. Ginny bushed her robes aside, straddled her broom comfortably between her thighs, and pushed off — her hair whipping behind her.

Harry groaned, not liking the funny feeling in his stomach one bit.

_'I don't care. It was rubbish anyway . . ._' He told himself and pushed off of the ground, resolve firm.

Yet as he watched her fly down the field, the picture of grace and athleticism, Harry couldn't help but wonder at the inexplicable tight feeling in his chest. Something had switched in the wizard after he heard that conversation. Something he didn't even know existed.

Harry dodged a bludger that whizzed past his head, ducking to the left and nearly colliding with a beater that was pursuing the ball. The boy licked his lips . . . determined to become focused on the game. Quidditch, at least, he was sure of.

After what seemed like an eternity, practice was over. Harry didn't bother to wait for Ron, practically ran back to the castle, and burrowed himself in his dormitory. The boy pulled at his messy hair. Why had he just noticed now that Ron's sister was a real girl? Honestly, it was pathetic that such base gossip could affect him like that.

What would Ron say? What would anybody say? He shook his head; irony had a strange sense of humor.

And did Ginny even know the things boys said about her in her absence? Harry didn't think so. It didn't seem right, somehow.

Harry sighed. Was he really that shallow? A couple comments that were fit to be written on the bathroom wall and he was fawning over someone he hadn't known existed until now. Harry groaned; the memory of Ginny flying in the wind was still fresh in his mind. For one second, Harry was a bit jealous of her broomstick — then literally slapped himself for the thought.

_Really, Potter. You're no better than Thomas. She's just your best mate's sister._

But somehow, after what he had heard, and the new perception he had of this siren, Harry couldn't convince himself that was true anymore.

* * *

ATTENTION ALL REVIEWING READERS:

First: to those of you who DO read, but don't review, thanks for reading. Review when you can, eh?

Second: To all you super cool, wonderful, buddies of mine who review, I am strongly considering PRR's (personal reviewer replies). That is, UNLESS ff doesn't like that. Obviously one-liner "Wow!" reviews won't need a reply, but I think it's a cool idea. Anyone know if stories are deleted b/c of that? If not, I'll do it.

Leave me your feedback; it's the only way I know how to improve.

**Love you all,**

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	2. He'll be doing just fine

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything connected to J.K. Rowling

This chapter dedicated to the author **Majick**. Go ahead and try to read Ginderella with a straight face, I dare you. Really, it's pure goodness.

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Harry stood in a deserted grave, one not unlike the cemetery he remembered perfectly from fourth year. It was dark still; the boy had the distinct feeling daybreak didn't bother to light such a place. He drifted through crisp grass, floating surreally past grave markers and dead leaves. Harry's spine prickled; the hair on the back of his neck stood alert.

The wizard didn't know what he was searching for, and yet Harry felt compelled to press forward. He circled the granite markers, listlessly absorbing the names chiseled in to the cold stone. Harry shivered. So much pain lay just beneath the silent ground.

It was different than his other night terrors. Harry wasn't surrounded by malicious Death Eaters, nor could he hear the earsplitting final cries of faceless victims. Only silence surrounded him, a queer sort of ache. This dream was different. His scar was not split in pain, but dully thumped with the loud buh-bum of his own heartbeat.

He couldn't put his finger on why this place felt so surreal. The air was stagnant, dead. In his nightmares, at least, Harry knew where he was. This place was utterly foreign, yet . . . something else as well.

Harry knelt at a grave, brushing aside cracked leaves and dust from the aged letters. Dorcas Meadows. The name was eerily familiar. Harry slipped past the stone to the next one. Amelia Bones.

He started, slamming his eyes shut tight. Harry remembered those names. _Members of the order_. Marlene McKinnon. Benjy Fenwick. They had died. Forever. _Dead_. Names and dates blurred together, merging into each other as shades of grey swam before him. He swayed on his feet, fighting to stay standing. Harry felt tears prickle at the back of his eyes. The cemetery spun around and around, spiraling out of control. Caradoc Dearborn . . .

Then it stopped, just as sudden as the whirling began. Harry fell to his knees, his hands splayed on the ground. He took a shaky breath and wrenched open his eyes, surprised to face a single tombstone. He adjusted his glasses, dimly registering the name carved into the rock.

Lily Potter.

The boy sucked in his breath, his eyes swimming again. Harry heard the dull roar of pain surface into his conscience. The false serenity of a quiet cemetery bored into his mind, filling his ears with it's deafening shriek.

Harry slid to his side, gasping for air. He had never experienced a panic attack, but was almost sure this qualified as such. He gazed at the stone, lost memories and regret so acute it pierced his heart like a saber. All Harry had ever wanted was a mother, and his was dead.

He blinked again, this time not to shut out pain, but rather a blinding glow flooding his eyes. The cemetery was filled with orange . . . no . . . red light. He looked up, lifting himself onto his heels. Ginger light radiated out of the dying blades of grass, shining from the words written on the graves. It surrounded Harry, glowing in impossible luminescence.

The wizard backed up, awestruck. The light was everywhere, growing brighter still, drowning out the vision of the grave. Harry clamped his eyes shut, the light too bright for him. He felt the cemetery spin again, faster than before. Harry could have sworn he actually was going somewhere . . .

The Boy-Who-Lived sat up in bed, clutching his forehead with one hand, the other clasped onto his sheets. He was breathing heavily, but awake now, with no eerie cemetery or light in sight.

Just a dream . . .

Yet something felt odd about it, though. Harry paused to consider, carefully weighing the "dream" in his mind. He couldn't shake the surreal feeling that had nestled itself in the pit of his stomach.

Harry slowly brought his hand back down, surprised to find that the usual ache in his scar that accompanied his dreams was gone. He frowned, contemplating. The details were already slipping away. He remembered a lot of bright light, but unlike the visions of green Harry often experienced, he didn't feel palpable malice or sorrow.

_Whatever_. It was weird.

A soft rustle brought him out of his thoughts. He stiffened against the headboard and waited for the intruder. Harry wondered for a moment if he was acting melodramatic.

After all, how likely was it that escaped murderers, dark lords, or hidden Animagus could prowl around his dorm?

Er — point taken.

Harry decided he couldn't be wary enough considering his share of bed-trespassers. And before the wizard could properly blush at all the connotations of his previous thought, the bed curtains parted to reveal a scarlet head of hair.

_No way._

"Ginny?" Harry blanched. "What are you doing . . .? Why —?"

She smiled coyly, slinking onto his bed. The witch arched her back, slowly and deliberately making her way across his bed. She rocked back on her heels, kneeling in front of him. Harry blinked.

Surely this had something to do with yesterday . . . after all; all of this _Ginny_ rubbish didn't concern him until then. Coincidence, was it, that Ginny Weasley was in his _bed_, looking . . . well, risqué just when he discovered she had, er,_ **feminine **_qualities?

Harry gulped. Hard.

There was something off about the way she moved. Her every motion was liquid, like molten grace. She almost purred, creeping toward him, never breaking eye contact. Harry was strongly reminded of a cat, as feline arms sought his body.

Ginny's eyes blazed. Harry felt his mouth open and close, working to find the right words. He wanted to shove her away, to be repulsed by the little girl in his bed — yet the come hither expression on her face, and the distinct, yet subtle pout of Ginny's lips held him at bay.

It felt like he had somehow swallowed an entire cauldron full of ice water. Harry was both terrified and exhilarated at the same time, the two emotions mixing in his blood.

The teenager took a deep breath, surprised at how flustered he was. He weakly rose to protest, but was silenced by an efficient finger to his lips. Ginny never said a word, smiling demurely under hooded lashes.

He tore his eyes away, only then aware of the gentle swell of her body against his covers. In fact, Ginny's pale nightdress made her seem older somehow, worn through enough years that it had a translucent quality. The neckline gaped a bit, clearly exposing a good bit of Ginny's collarbones and breasts.

He could feel her hot breath now against his neck, making Harry's heart clap against his ribs.

The wizard shut his eyes, willing the siren to leave. He took a calming breath, summoning up visions of arctic tundra in place of the gentle pressure her curves had against him. He licked his dry lips, fighting the urge to . . . .er, give her a _sweater_.

"Ginny —" the boy gasped, finding it altogether too hard to speak.

"Shhhhh," she breathed, now face to face with him. She pouted her lips, tracing the tip of her tongue across her teeth. "Don't you want to kiss me?"

"Wha —?"

"Come on." Her voice was husky, something Harry wouldn't admit he liked. "Everyone else has. Don't you want to tell Dean how good I am?"

Harry lamely shook his head. There were rules here. He couldn't like her. There were rules he had to follow. Like not to get involved with girls. Especially ones like this witch.

Rules.

She was just Ginny.

_Rules._

And Ginny was here. With him . . .

_XxX_

"Oi, Harry! Get up, you sod!" Harry jerked out of bed, landing in a heap on the floor.

The boy gasped, finding himself tangled in red sheets. **Just** sheets.

"Harry; you all right? You're all . . . sweaty."

_Yes. Rather peachy, thanks._

"You didn't have another, you know, _nightmare_ right?"

Harry stood up, brushing himself off, and hoping the flaming red blush that had blossomed when he awoke had gone down. "Er — no. Well," he paused. "Not really. It was . . . odd."

"Oh, Harry!" Ron choked, staring at him with a knowing expression. "You wanker."

"What? No — I didn't . . . it wasn't-" Harry protested, growing hot in the cheeks. He self consciously pulled the sheet a bit closer to himself.

"Mm-hmm." Ron shrugged, dressing himself.

Harry, meanwhile, remained propped up against his bed on the floor. He'd never really had _that _kind of dream, and now that it was over, wasn't sure what was so great about it. Harry was jumpy, confused, and yes . . . he had broke out in a cold sweat.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Harry had known Ginny for five years now, but had barely met her, it seemed. Ginny's schoolgirl infatuation was old news (as her endless slew of boyfriends proved) and the boy wondered by he hadn't bothered to get to know her a bit more since then. Aside from his common Weasley knowledge, Ginny was a complete stranger to him.

He frowned. Hermione had once called Ron an insensitive jerk for not noticing her. Harry had dismissed it as silly at the time, but now? He was by definition far more "insensitive" for not bothering to notice Ginny before.

"Hey, Ron?"

"Umph," his friend grunted in reply.

"D'you think I'm insensitive?"

Ron barked a snort of laughter. "'Mione bribe you to ask that?" The redhead shook his head, grinning at himself in the mirror.

Harry pulled on his robes, scowling. "Nevermind."

"I mean, really. It's something she'd hack off about, though, yeah? All that rubbish about _feelings_ and _emotions_, and what not. Bloody mental, that one."

Harry dully nodded, still not able to explain the rush of disappointment in his stomach.

_XxX_

Harry was sitting in his favorite squashy armchair, lost in thought. His classes had come and gone easily enough. 14 inches on the thirteenth century for HoM, were assigned for next Monday, but The-Boy-Who-Lived had no plans to start on that 'till the night before.

Harry snorted to himself. He had _really_ been trying hard not to think of Ginny anymore. Mercifully, Harry hadn't seen her around much today; he didn't know how he'd handle himself if he had to.

Besides, Harry chided himself. He was quite certain that he most certainly did not fancy Ginny — or care for her at all in that way. The idea was horribly trite: in a single day, the hero finds he has fallen deeply in love with someone he'd barely met? No thank you. The wizard wasn't about to become a cliché.

And besides, there still remained all this business about Voldemort, impending world-domination, and his certain lack of family to deal with. Harry rubbed his temples, wishing for a moment that he could have the luxury of overanalyzing the finer sex.

He glared up at his forehead, jade eyes crossing slightly. The boy sighed. Honestly, nothing could ever be as easy for a marked man, could it? He smirked a bit, vaguely wondering if Voldemort had privy to his thoughts last night. Harry drew grim satisfaction from knowing that however embarrassing his fumblings around Ginny had been, an evil, void-of-hormones, maniacal, dark lord couldn't have fared better.

_Take that you sod._

He really wished he could owl his dad for help. Or Sirius. Yeah — from what Harry heard, Sirius was the ladies-man of the group. In spite of himself, Harry smiled a bit; it would have been nice to hear his Godfather guffaw about Ginny Weasley's developments.

Ron was definitely off limits for obvious reasons.

Speaking of whom, Harry could make out Ron's distinct growl as he entered the common room, slamming the door behind him.

"If you hadn't been fooling around with that thing—"

"Well excuse me, Mr. I'm-so-obsessed-with-my-_girl_-friend-that-I-have-to-draw-all-over-my-notes-and-get-detention! Some of us, you know, actually try to bother with class."

Ron's ears had gone bright red from the provocation by his sister. They were in the middle of a nasty argument. Harry noticed that Ginny also had a bandage wrapped around her right forearm, as Ron kept pointing at it emphatically.

"Oh that's rich! Coming from the girl who got her arm hacked into in Herbology because she couldn't be _bothered _to pay attention to the teething Venomus Tentacula."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Pomfry fixed it—"

"Don't give me that. She said it would be stiff for another three days! We've got a match—"

"—on Saturday, and our chasers _absolutely **must **_be in good condition!" Ginny finished sarcastically.

Ron towered over her, poking her in the chest with his finger. "Don't you blow me off. That's your _throwing arm_, wrapped up, and so help me as captain of the team I will **not** have my chaser unable to score!"

"Well, Ron_ald_, maybe if you hadn't landed yourself in detention tonight, I could have practiced loosening it before the game tomorrow. But since you're so _enamored_ with Hermione, then I guess I'll just—"

"First of all, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about. And secondly, don't call me that."

"Why? Only like it when your _special_ friend does it . . . Ronald?" Ginny burst into laughter, watching Ron grow steadily redder.

Harry watched in fascination. He had only seen Rob bicker with Hermione, but his kid sister seemed to know exactly what to say and how far to go with it. The look on his friends' face was priceless. He had to hand it to her, Ginny could argue her way up and down Ron's temper like nothing else.

"You — I . . . er, 'Mione —" the redheaded wizard sputtered. Harry cringed; this was just pathetic.

He cleared his throat, hoping to spare Ron further humiliation.

"Harry!" Ron screeched, just now noticing his friend's presence. Ginny was smirking behind him, silently laughing. "Heya, Harry," Ron said again, slower this time, as if he had solved a difficult spell.

Harry backed up a bit, not liking the gleam in Ron's eye. "Hey, you gotta help me."

The bespectacled wizard raised his eyebrows.

Ron continued, looking like he was doing some very fast thinking. "Harry — you, you know how to play right? You can practice with Gin tonight. Oh, you _have_ to do it. I can't afford a loss this early in the season!"

Ginny had raised an eyebrow behind her brother, her hands on hips. Harry backpedaled; no way in hell would he be subject to . . . _her_ for an entire night. After what happened yesterday, nuh-uh.

"I'm a _seeker_," Harry stressed the word as if explaining why the sky was blue to a very small child. He shook his head. "No, sorry."

"C'mon, it's not hard. You know what a Quaffle is. I can't ask Kirke or Thomas, they've both got charms club or something. And I will** not** ask that Sloper bloke — the way he was staring at Gin last practice . . . .always knew he was a bit seedy. No way in hell am I going to let him get his grubby hands all over —"

"Ron!" Ginny smacked him in the shoulder. "I am quite certain that I can more than handle myself in that sort of situation. After all, I grew up with you, didn't I?"

Harry winced; when she said it that way . . .

Ginny also coloured slightly. She turned to Harry and hastily amended her thought. "Not that Ronnie's incestuous." She paused. "Hermione wouldn't have it."

Ron snorted, giving his sister a look of pure revulsion. "Anyway," he sniffed. "You owe me one. Remember last week; the run in with Trelawney?" Harry cringed.

Ron, sensing his near victory pressed on. "Harry, this is important to the _team_. I've got bloody detention, so I can't. Please? When we win tomorrow, it'll all be worth it. And Ginny's . . . er, nice."

The girl in question snorted, her eyebrow raised. _He's begging._

"Yeah, you'll get some practice too. She's a good player."

Harry fought a mental battle. Spending more time with Ginny would undoubtedly add to his situation. What the wizard really needed was time right now. Time enough to figure things out and then formulate a plan. He didn't like not being in control. More than that, he didn't much care for the dimple in the witch's left cheek when she grinned at him like that.

_What am I getting myself into?_

"Fine," he grumbled. _Curses on Gryffindor sense of duty._

"I knew you would!" Ron blurted, racing up to his dorm.

Harry glanced at Ginny as his stomach leapt uncomfortably. "So . . ." she drawled expectantly.

"Ill, er, go change then," Harry muttered. "See you in a bit."

"Looking forward to it." And despite the dry sarcasm, Harry couldn't help but wonder if she meant it.

_XxX_

He and Ginny walked onto the pitch, brooms in hand. She was lightly tossing the bright red ball with one hand, reminding Harry just a bit of his dad. Oddly enough, once Harry was in her company, the wizard found Ginny actually a very soothing person to hang around with.

He remembered a brief exchange between them last year at Easter. She had helped him, Harry reckoned. Ginny had understood some things, helped him find a way to reach Sirius,and had them kicked out of the library for eating chocolate . . .

He smiled at her, wondering if she ever thought about that.

In fact, the boy reasoned, he didn't pay enough attention to a lot of personality Ginny had. She was just as willful as her brothers, inheriting Fred and George's scheming and determination.

What was it she said? '_Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve_.' Hm.

"You can stop staring at me, you know."

Harry jerked up. "What? Oh, I didn't realize I was doing it."

She shook her head, letting it pass. Harry stopped, just now noticing how very _shiny_ her hair was in the sunlight.

"Well, I'll just, fly over by the hoops, and you can practice throwing at me, er, the goal." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I supposed you could chuck 'em at me if you wanted . . ."

Ginny giggled, making a face. "S'alright." She said, touching his arm. "Why don't I just warm up by tossing it with you?"

They flew off the ground, about 20 feet away from one another. It was different, Harry realized, flying with Ginny alone than with the entire team. The swell of exhilaration he felt on his broom was intensified and coupled with . . . anxiety?

He shook it off, smiling cheekily at her. "Now, don't laugh when I'm rubbish at this."

Ginny tossed back her head and chuckled. "I'd be much too afraid to tease the great Harry Potter." She wrinkled her nose and lobbed the ball over to the wizard, making an exaggerated show of her movements.

Harry caught it easily, surprised that he didn't wobble on his broomstick. "How's your arm?"

She caught his (slightly off) return pass. "Actually, this feels good. I'm glad I don't have to work it out tomorrow, though."

The wizard caught on quickly — this wasn't so much different than regular flying. Harry found that if he wrapped his feet around his Firebolt, he could make a good show of "lunging" for the ball in any direction and still maintain balance. Ginny would laugh after he made a particularly amusing move, her voice filling the pitch. Consequently, Harry tried more ridiculous moves, hurling himself outlandishly after the Quaffle to make her laugh again.

They soon found themselves lost in conversation, absentmindedly flipping the Quaffle back and forth.

"Crying. Fred and George couldn't stand it when I'd get all teary eyed and start sniffling. That's why they used Ron as their test subject. He didn't have the dignity to wail."

Harry privately agreed with her. Merlin knew how helpless he was with crying girls. "You did it on purpose?" She nodded happily.

"Once you learn how, it's easy to manipulate my brothers."

"They should've put you in Slytherin."

"Mmm," she mused. "I'm afraid there may have been a conflict of interest."

Harry feigned seriousness. "After all, what would your brothers say?"

"What would you say?" she lowered her voice a couple of octaves. "_'What? Go rescue a Slytherin from certain peril? **Never**!'"_

"I _may_ have made an exception," he waggled his eyebrows at her.

She gasped. "What would poor Mum do? I can just imagine the howler: _GINNY WEASLEY, WHAT IS THAT I HEAR ABOUT YOU AND MALFOY PLOTTING TO KILL POOR, DEAR, SWEET, BRAVE HARRY! YOU STOP THAT AT ONCE!_!"

Harry blanched. "_Malfoy_. Surely you'd have better taste in Slytherins."

The redhead smiled at him, licking her lips. She tossed her flaming hair off of one shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with my taste."

"You really fancy him, eh?"

She leaned in conspiratorially on her broomstick and whispered into Harry's ear. "Who doesn't?"

He shivered, only in part from what Ginny just said. "WHAT!"

Ginny pulled away, looking suspiciously innocent. "What?"

"Did you just say—"

"Nope. Nuh-huh."

"But I thought—"

"No I didn't."

Harry opened his mouth to argue some more, but caught sight of her blatant grin. "Are you taking the Mickey?"

She winked at him in response, and darted away on her broom. The witch paused and glanced over her shoulder, taunting Harry with a 'come hither' look.

_Manipulation._

He rolled his eyes, spurring on his Firebolt after her. Ginny's broom was older, slower, far less agile, and she didn't have much of a head start. Therefore, it was no surprise that he caught up with her before she made a single lap.

She didn't stop, though. Harry and Ginny were flying as fast as her broom could carry her, wind whipping through their hair, insane laughter bubbling out. She flung back her arms, leaning off her broom.

It struck Harry just then how absolutely _un_like Ron his sister was, and how _lucky_ he was for that.

He didn't know what made him do it. Looking back on the whole affair, Harry should have known it was too good to be true.

"Hey, Gin. Are you really over me?"

And that was it. The wonderful carefree flying was over. Ginny slowed her broom and spun around so fast that she slid forward and almost toppled off the end. She blinked at him.

Harry blinked back, trying for the life of him to discern her oddly blank expression.

Then, she laughed. It wasn't like her others, though. Maybe it was because of how pretty the witch looked, with her hair all wind tossed and knotted, that he felt mocked. Maybe it was because this was the first time he actually wanted her to blush a bit around him.

Either way, Harry desperately wished he could have taken back that question. _Stop ruddy **laughing**._

"That's — just — funny," she choked out in-between giggles. "Merlin, Harry, gimme a break."

"S'not really all that amusing, you know," he muttered, feeling indignant.

"Well, it's just_, funny_. I bet you used to have a grand hoot about me blushing my head off when you walked in the room." He noticed a barely detectable trace of bitterness to her voice. "You and Ron must have cawed over and over again about how _silly_ it was that I kept a quill you forgot in the common room for two years."

_Actually, I didn't know that._

"No. Gin, I just —"

"No really, isn't it just hilarious? My own _friends _laughed themselves hoarse behind my back. Why wouldn't you want another go?"

"Er- sorry. Really." Harry felt terrible; his heart dropped down to his stomach. "I was an insensitive jerk."

"Mmm," she mused. "Hermione teach you that one?"

_What is it with that word? Maybe it's a family thing . . ._

"Can . . .can we just forget I ever said anything? Please? I — I'm sorry I brought it up."

Ginny smiled again. "Sure. Whatever you say, Green eyes."

He looked away, nervous again. "Well, is your-er- arm feeling better?"

"Oh. Yes it is."

"Did — did you really keep a quill of mine for two years?"

Ginny laughed again, though it didn't bother Harry this time. She sounded amused again. "Yes. I kept it in my bed-stand, hidden away. Some days, I'd take it out on difficult exams for luck."

"Oh."

She cocked her head to one side, giving him an appraising glance. "You're different today," she noted, leaning forward on her broom.

"Different?"

"Yeah. Like, you know, a normal boy." Harry scowled.

"Not that you're not . . .normal," she backpedaled at the look on his face. "Well, actually," the witch reasoned. "You aren't normal. Not by a long shot."

Harry blanched at her. "You shouldn't be upset about it, Harry. It's just . . ._you_. I mean, I'm not putting this very well, am I? What I mean is, you're just . . . well, _different_."

Harry snorted. His temper, always so close to the surface was ready to burst. He stabbed his pointer finger at his forehead. "So this is what it's all about, huh? I should have known." Ginny's eyes went wide. She shook her head furiously.

"No, Harry, no. That's not what I —"

"Oh, _of course_," Harry drawled sarcastically. "How could I forget? The **great** Harry Potter is abnormal. Better watch out or the death eaters after me will have you for an appetizer."

Instead of backing down, though, Ginny's eyes flashed. "What are you on about?" she hissed. Harry snapped. He was frustrated by her, by Ron, by Dumbledore, Voldemort . . . good intentions, people trying to _understand_. He was sick of it all. He was sick of always having to talk about bloody, stupid Voldemort, and how he- the great _hero_- would save the day.

"So tell me, are you in it for the attention or the glory?"

"What is your problem?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew he was wrong yelling at Ginny like that. But that part of him was trumped by the very angsty, fed-up, angry rest of him. "A lot, actually. You, for one. Just . . .just go back to whatever flavor of the month your with, and leave me alone. I don't need you to tell me it's _okay_, and that you _understand_. You know what? I didn't ask for any of this. I don't want any of this. I don't want you, or Ron, or any of your family for that matter, and I don't want Hermione. You all can just leave me out of your prying eyes and questions . . . "

But that time, Ginny had very calmly landed her broom and was walking away.

"Hey!" He ran after her.

She whirled around, her hands clenching into fists. "I thought you didn't _want_ me, Potter," she spat. "Merlin, I cannot believe I wasted so much time with you! I just, I can't believe it! You know what? I was right! You're not normal. You see — normal people aren't so absolutely . . ." she floundered for the right word, giving up with an emphatic "Eugh!"

"You, Harry, are a sad, pathetic, _jerk_. And I'm sorry as hell all that stuff happened to you. Really. But don't, not for one minute, think you're the only one who's got to deal with history!

"How do you think _Neville_ feels? How do you think he feels **every single day**, knowing that his parents are alive but don't even know who he is! You think you've got it so rough, do you? How do you think he copes? Do you even know Susan Bones' mum was killed in the order? What about . . . what about me? How do you think _I_ cope?" She gave him one last, withering glance. "You know, I'm glad Sirius is dead, Harry. At least he doesn't have to see _this_."

The witch threw her broomstick on the ground, calmly straightened her robes, and walked away.

* * *

**A.N.:** Awww, don't worry.Ginny went a little far there, didn't she?Don't worry, I swear no cheesy epiphanies abouttheir undying LUV for each other will happen after that row. That's just not canon. Also, apologize if the dream-sequence was awkward. Tried to make it flow, but . . . yeah. Sorry to stop with such a fight; but I figured 4,558 words was long enough for a chappy. Please review; I love reviews! Oh, and could someone please tell me if Zacharias Smith is in Gryffindor! I tried to find out for at least 20 minutes today before giving up.

Much love,

WQ

**Misshogwarts1125:** Oh dear. Say it isn't so! (And you'd think I'd have better luck in the guy department, at least)

**Katjajett** Er- terribly sorry, but I think you're going to end up disappointed. While I do write my fics with Voldemort-induced uncertainty, realism, and all that angsty-stuff, I don't really include death snacker attacks or really intricate Voldy-plots. I would just make a mockery of some really serious stuff, and feel terrible for subjecting innocent readers to pure rubbish. Sorry to disappoint.

**Wolf's Scream:** Good point. Hmmm, my reasoning was that since teenage boys probably talk about exes they've been dumped by like that normally, Harry would have heard that kind of vocab before, ergo, not much of a surprise. You're right, though. Thanks so much for the review.

**Sunlitmist** Sorry it didn't flow for you. (I always have trouble with awkward sentence structure). Actually, I have heard a conversation much similar to Dean and Corner's though, in my own school, which is where I drafted it from. Who knows, maybe that one was "staged" as well.

**Very special thanks to all my reviewers: I love you guys SO much!**


	3. Gotta Gotta Be Down

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to J.K. Rowling

This chapter is dedicated to **Mr. Intel**. Read his H/Gone shot collection- it's fabulous. Do it!

* * *

Harry stormed past Ron, taking the steps up to his dorm two at a time. He blew through the door, his breath a short hiss. The boy was seething. Harry ripped off his robes, throwing them unceremoniously on the ground.

He kicked his trunk, seething with rage. Harry sat on his bed, breathing deeply. He pulled at the hair on the back of his head in frustration, wanting very much to smash something. Unfortunately, he had no breakable, spindly, knick-knacks to send flying, so the boy contented himself by hurling his textbooks across the room with a simple summoning charm while clenching and unclenching his other fist.

No one had ever, ever, made reference to Sirius like _that_. His Godfather was a hallowed figure; Harry had made it perfectly clear during his summer visit at the Weasley's after his fifth year that he was fine, no, he didn't need to eat _another _batch of cookies, and that the name Sirius Black, all of his possessions, and number 12, Grimmauld Palace were sacred.

It was the hardest thing Harry had ever done. This scar burned inside of his chest, a living reminder of his failings and pain. Harry was torn between the desire for bitter revenge and simply walking away from it all. For weeks, he'd barely eaten, rehearsing just what he'd say to . . . that _woman _when they'd meet again. Harry became consumed by memory, spending days at a time locked in his room.

Defeat wasn't an option, though. After a very long, much needed, conversation with Remus, some things began to mend. The wound was still raw, pain that wouldn't ever heal. However, Sirius' longtime friend gave the young wizard perspective and understanding. Remus was the single soul to whom Harry had revealed the secret of his prophesy. The werewolf was Harry's last connection to his real family; the only being that understood the wizard's fire of emotion — hatred and sorrow.

And with a few angry words, all of his regrets and pain spilled out of him again. Harry's eyes darkened; no one _ever_, **_ever_**, had the right to say that. He vaguely heard something shatter behind him, followed by the unmistakable creak of splitting wood.

_Damnit_

His four poster bed gave another wrench of agony before cracking in half and collapsing to the ground, throwing Harry sideways. Just another lovely reminder of his "special powers" that he couldn't control.

"Should I come back later?" Ron was standing in his doorway, surveying the damage.

Harry scowled. He was now a very moody teenager dumped in a pile of broken wood and sheets, his bed broken, and desire to hurt someone intensified. "Just. Leave." He hissed through gritted teeth.

Ron gave a low whistle. "All right. Wha'd she do?"

"Ron, d'you see this bed? It could be you."

The redhead snorted, then sobered. "First of all, mate, you can't touch this." Harry rolled his eyes in spite of himself. "And second of all, splinter-arse, whatever my idiot sister did, let me tell you, she always gets her comeuppance."

"Hermione teach you that word?" Harry spat. "Look, I don't want to talk about it, all right? Now, just _leave_."

Ron frowned. "Gin really upset you, didn't she?"

"You Weasley's don't know when to let it go, do you?" Ron didn't respond; instead, dumped himself next to Harry on the floor. Harry took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, smiling faintly at a distant memory of mangy hair and grey eyes. The smile quickly waned, though, replaced by stinging pain at the back of his eyes.

"She . . . she —" Harry broke off, unable to hide the thick betrayal and anger in his voice. "How dare she?" he whispered fiercely. "She _knew_ and still . . . she said, she said she was _glad_." Harry blinked hard, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. He had many moments where the rush of suffering was too intense for him, but these moments were saved for quiet hours of the night, when Harry allowed himself to remember the man he had loved.

"Hey, hey, mate. S'okay." Ron awkwardly patted him on the back. "I can always kick her off the team."

Harry lifted his head, his eyes blazing. "She said she was _glad_ Sirius died." Ron blanched, paling beneath his freckles.

"She . . . said that?"

Harry nodded, clenching his fists again. "She was _there_. She saw him . . . _saw_ him fall . . . . and now is glad."

"Oh, hell. I didn't know." Ron glared at the door leading down to the commons. "I saw her run back a little before you. I'm sorry. I just thought it might be . . . good for you two to, you know, practice."

"I — I can't forget that. Ever."

"Harry, I don't think she meant it like that. You know Gin, she just . . .says stuff. She was _with_ us there. I honestly don't think she . . . she couldn't have meant that. Not Ginny. I know my sister."

"I was bloody well there, _Ron_."

"I just can't believe she'd say that to you. Ginny just — well, she never shuts up. Harry, I'm all for knocking her about a bit with a bludger now and again, and I know she's got problems, but I can tell you- she'd _never_ do that. She respects you too much."

Harry glared moodily around the room. Her words stung to his core, reverberating around the walls of his heart. "Well then, since you're so buddy buddy with each other, why don't you _get out_ of my room and go chat with her."

"D'you wanna know something, Harry?" Ron ran his hand through his hair, sticking it up in the back. It had become something of a nervous habit with him. "After you came to the burrow, after, well, you know . . . 'Mione and me, we were really worried."

Harry stiffened. The last thing he wanted was pity.

"You, well, you stopped eating and shut yourself up in your room — er, yeah. Anyway, we were gonna . . . I dunno, break down the door and force you to talk or something. Feed you vertiserum."

The wizard had never heard this story before. He stared resolutely at his hands, infinitely grateful Ron and Hermione hadn't followed through with any of that. It would have only further alienated him.

"Yeah, it sounds really stupid now. Ginny, though, she and Sirius," Harry flinched at the name. "They used to hang out I think."

_They used to hang out . . . _

"The summer before fifth year. 'Mione and I would clean together, run errands and stuff. I never thought really about where Ginny was. Turns out, she spent a lot of time talking to Sirius. They'd hang out with Buckbeak; since he couldn't do too much out of the house, and she was too little to really do anything, I guess they made a pair. She was probably closest to him next to you, I'd bet. Gave him company and all.

"Anyway, like I said, after the department . . . we were all going nuts. She wasn't sleeping either. Then, when you showed up and Ginny caught wind of what we were thinking, she put her foot down. Started going off about you and how hard it was . . . cried a lot. Ruddy girl.

"She camped outside your door all that time you stayed recluse. Partly, I think, to keep you "safe" from 'Mione and me, and partly to . . . I dunno, make sure you were okay and everything." Ron broke off, staring at the floor.

"I wasn't supposed to tell. She said she hex me into next week. But I — I really don't think she'd be _glad_. Honestly, she was a real mess afterward."

Harry stared woodenly at his friend. He knew what he heard. But at the same time, if Ron was telling the truth, then it just didn't match up. "I don't care."

Ron sighed. "I'm sorry, mate." He turned to shuffle out of the room, then paused at the door. "But, you know, Gin just says stuff. Once told Mum she was a soddy old bat because Bill got to go to Ireland and she didn't. Was in trouble for weeks. Anyway, Gin'd never wanna hurt you. I know."

The redhead smiled faintly. "Hell, when she was five or six, Gin _begged_ Mum to sew her a 'Harry Potter' doll — scar and everything. Slept with it every night for years. We used to share a bed and every night I'd have to tell her about you and how You-Know-Who was defeated.

"You were her hero. And I think, mate, you still are. I'm just her thick her older brother, but I know Gin. She'd never want to hurt her hero."

Ron left, leaving Harry alone in the room. The wizard swore again, rubbing his throbbing temples.

XxX

Several hours later, Harry was still holed up in his room, staring at the ceiling. He was still furious with Ginny — Ron's little speech hadn't done anything to quell that. Instead, it only added to his turbulence. There was no question that Ron would be loyal to his family; Harry knew the Weasleys were protective of each other no matter what. But it didn't seem likely that he'd lied, either.

Harry was thoroughly confused. If Ginny and Sirius _had_ been close, why would she say something like that? And if she really had camped outside of his door all summer, why would . . . she _say_ something like that? It was a mess.

Ron was still out on prefect duties; he wouldn't be back until much later. His other room mates had gone to bed. Harry's exhausted thoughts blurred after one another in his head. One moment the memory of Ginny flying on her broom, wind whipping through her hair burned behind his eyes. The next, his chest swelled with longing and loss.

The boy's swarm of emotions stopped abruptly when he heard the door open with a creak. He groaned aloud. There was only one person, Harry deducted, who could be sneaking into his room after hours. Harry could just imagine her bare feet padding across the floor, hair spilling over her shoulders. Ginny Weasley, with her eyes sparkling in vengeance, had become a siren. Harry could easily picture her lusty frame, so deftly hiding the conniving and malicious wench she had grown into.

He wouldn't have it, though. Hot anger bubbled to his throat. How could she stand there, feet from his bed, after all her cruel barbs? Harry slammed his eyes shut, ignoring the other presence.

Well, he decided, if Ginny came expecting the chance to either gloat or apologize, she wouldn't get it.

"You can shove out of here right now," he growled without waiting for a response. "Don't think that because you're a girl I won't hex you if I have to."

"Er . . . Harry?"

Harry jolted forward in shock. "_Neville_?" Harry asked, just as surprised. The slightly nasal tenor wasn't what he had expected by a long shot.

Harry ripped open his bed curtains, stunned and embarrassed to see the round faced wizard staring at him. Harry cursed at himself. "Er — m'sorry Neville. I though you were someone else."

The boy smiled. "S'alright. It happens to everyone." Harry snorted. "Well, maybe not _everyone_."

"Right. Well, sorry." He mumbled. "I thought you were asleep."

"No. I was taking care of some . . . things down — yeah." Neville blushed, clearly uncomfortable. "Just out of curiosity, who were you expecting?"

Harry scowled. The indirect mention of Ginny set him off again. "No one."

Neville shrugged, climbing into his four poster. "Okay."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, surprised at how his semi-friend let it drop. Neville Longbottom really was a decent bloke. Unfortunately, Harry's thoughts now were more crowded. In the aftermath of what Ginny had thrown at him, Harry had been so focused on her crass Sirius comment he'd forgotten everything else she'd said.

Guilt suddenly washed over him. For years, Neville's bed had been next to his, yet Harry hadn't taken the time to ever try to understand him. _How many people have I neglected? _Harry began to wonder a little bit if what Ginny said was true. Thinking about it made him ache, he was still _so_ angry at her, but now part of him argued that she may have been right.

He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Minutes of silence ticked by while he thought.

"Hey, Neville?" Harry whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about your parents." Silence.

Harry instantly regretted saying it. If someone randomly pitied his dead mother and father, he'd be offended as well.

"S'alright." Neville mumbled, at last.

More minutes passed, both boys acutely aware of the other's soft breathing.

"Hey Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," Neville whispered.

Harry allowed himself a small smile. The sinking feeling in his gut felt a little lighter.

XxX

Harry dreamed about her again. Unfortunately for him, his subconscious missed the small memo that he was angry with Ginny, so his dream was . . . sweaty. Harry woke up deeply disgusted and frustrated with himself.

None of the other boys were awake. Harry guessed it was around 5:30, too late to go back to sleep. He slipped on his socks, still scowling from the memories of caressing red hair and freckles.

He couldn't understand it. Why couldn't he sort out how he felt about her? Harry's rational side took over. Ginny Weasley was impossibly attractive, insightful, witty, and personable. Who wouldn't be drawn to that kind of bird? She also happened to be cruel, thoughtless, and insulting. It was a rare paradox — one Harry couldn't make sense of.

He stole down to the common room, careful not to bother his room mates. Ron had stumbled in later than usual, muttering under his breath about 'never again' and 'some idiot.' Harry didn't want to set his friend off by waking him prematurely.

He was halfway down the steps when the boy stopped short, his momentum nearly carrying him to the bottom regardless. Harry nearly groaned aloud. A very familiar scarlet head of hair was visible over the back of his favorite armchair. Ginny's ubiquitous nature had struck once again. These eerie coincidences were _really_ getting out of hand.

_I can't bloody win. _

Harry slunk back against the wall, silently regarding his "nemesis". He felt a twang of self-reproachment go off in his chest, but ignored it. From his position, he couldn't tell what Ginny was doing. His best guess was reading; but at 5:30 in the morning?

He slowly manuevered down the rest of the stairs, hyper-aware of her soft breathing and his sweaty palms. The seconds passed in silence, and Harry grew restless. Watching the back of someone's head wasn't that satisfying, after all.

Ginny shifted positions in the chair so that much more of her profile was facing him, her head and shoulders were twisted sideways, her bare feet poking out of the other side. Harry watched her, the picture of serenity contradicting her base nature.

She had probably slept soundly the entire night, with no regard for anyone else.

Harry would have loved to have marched over to her and slugged her right in the face. He knew he wouldn't, though. Despite his tough words the night before, the wizard knew he'd never be able to hit a girl, it just wasn't right.

Still . . . she had hurt him very deeply. The stinging pain returned every time he glanced at her exposed profile. Harry couldn't forgive Ginny for what she had said, yet something inside still desperately ached to hold and touch her.

Harry rubbed his eyes, increasingly maddened. After a long while, he trudged back to his room to dress.

xXx

At breakfast, Harry couldn't eat. He picked at his eggs, half heartedly listening to the conversation. Ron had undoubtedly told Hermione about what had happened; the two of them took turns shooting Harry sympathetic and worried glances.

"Harry," Hermione began, her voice low. "Do eat something."

For her benefit, Harry chewed on a piece of toast, the taste suddenly like sawdust when he caught sight of Ginny taking her seat near Hermione. He gave her a cold glare and turned away.

His bushy haired friend shot him one last pained expression before exchanging pleasantries with Ginny. _Leave it to Hermione to be the "peacemaker."_

Try as he might, the wizard couldn't drown Ginny out. She was talking with Hermione like they were old friends. Her lusty voice pierced all other conversation in the Great Hall, catching his ear.

"It was so strange, Hermione."

"You're usually up that early."

"No, it was like . . .I dunno. I felt . . . someone there. With me." Hermione nodded for her to continue. "Like a presence. The back of my neck was all tingly and everything. I couldn't focus."

"Do you think someone was spying on you?" Ginny shrugged. "Who would?"

So she _had_ noticed him. Well, that was brilliant. Ron and Harry shared a look, the redhead's eyes questioning. Harry shook his head; he didn't want his friend getting the right idea about him. The wizard excused himself, shooting Ginny another glare. He left the Great Hall, a mild huff of indignation echoing behind him.

Harry walked quickly down the corridor, his temper rising.

"Hey! Harry, stop!" He ignored the voice, his features hard. It caught him by surprise, though, when he was bowled over by a very solid force. He cursed, laying on the stone floor. Ginny had thrown her stuffed bookbag at him.

"Harry, stop. We need to talk." The boy slung his bag over his shoulder, standing. "I don't want to talk to you."

Ginny shoved her hands on her hips, defiantly staring at him. "If you expect me to apologize for everything, you're wrong."

"What?" Harry started.

She shrugged, glaring back at him. "It's true. You glaring at me all the time isn't going to make me back down. Whether you like it or not, I'm right."

"Excuse me?" He leveled, feeling iron pump through his body. His wand hand subconsciously itched closer to his pocket. "Who gave you the right to tell me what to do?"

She made an impatient tutting sound, infuriating him more. "Ron and Hermione are too scared of your bloody temper to tell you off when you need it, and someone's got to, so why not me?"

"You —" he gaped, fighting to stay in control. "You don't know anything about me."

She smirked. "You'd be surprised. Anyway, I followed you to tell you to stop treating me badly because no one else has the guts to say what needs to be said."

"To say what needs to be said?" he echoed, incredulous. "YOU'RE BLOODY OUT OF YOUR MIND!"

"Stop shouting, Harry."

"I'LL SHOUT IF I FEEL LIKE IT!"

"Real mature, there." Ginny's dry tone and knowing smile had evaporative his last reserve of will power.

"Get away from me," he growled.

"I'll do no such thing."

"Just do it, _Weasley_." Her eyes sprang open at the use of her surname, reflecting betrayal and hurt. Harry's stomach gave a little leap for the victory; the witch now felt a portion of the pain he hosted the past day.

"DON'T YOU SHUT ME OUT!" She screamed back at him, her cheeks flaming red. "I don't want to row with you!"

"I don't want to ever see you again," he shot back, voice steely. Ginny let her wand fall to her side.

"What did I do to you?" she whispered.

Harry didn't believe her wide-eyed expression for an instant. He took a step forward. "Don't. You. **_Ever_**. Speak of Sirius again."

Ginny blinked at him, biting the inside of her cheek. "You mean yesterday . . ." Her voice trailed off. "Oh, Harry I didn't mean —"

"Shut up." He cut her off, visibly shaking.

"No," Ginny snapped. "You can't make me. I've never met anyone so thick-headed, stubborn, irritating . . . For the first time in my life, I _really_ don't like you, Harry Potter."

Harry blew out his breath in an angry huff. "You're — you're just a silly, little, girl aren't you?"

The sentence had immediate effect. Ginny's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. She took a step back, shaking her head. "What?"

"You're just a _silly girl_. You don't know anything about people. You think you can say whatever you want, but you don't get it. Sirius is _dead_, and you're too foolish to shut your mouth about it." Harry's voice was even. He didn't know what made him call her that; he simply wanted to hurt her. He wanted her to feel the ache that never left him.

"Don't you ever call me that." Ginny was shaking her head again, her hair falling out of it's bun. "Don't _ever_ say that."

"Why not?" He taunted. Harry knew he was wrong, but he couldn't stop his mouth; he'd lost control of all thought. "Afraid of the truth?"

Her jaw hardened. Ginny wasn't going to cry; the sobbing girl he had once known was gone. She turned her ice- cold stare on the boy, a look of sheer hatred. Harry had only seen such pure contempt aimed at him from one other soul. She turned on her heel and left, leaving a suddenly ashamed boy in her wake.

* * *

**A.N.:** I know, I know, nearly identical endings in this and the last chapter. But this is the very **end** of the fighting, I promise! And I want to apologize for making Harry such a complete and utter jerk. My only reasoning is that in the books when people insult his dead family, he looses it, and says things he doesn't mean. Also, Harry has no idea why calling her a "silly little girl" is so bad. (Do you?) Anyway, Harry will feel much needed guilt and remorse in the very near future, I promise. I really had a hard time with this chapter. It sets a lot of the plot moving- though. Don't be too hard on me, I really tried. Please stay with me, the fun-ness timesare **next**!

Expect the next chap. up by the end of the week- this one was delayed because I had summer camp for two weeks.

Question of the day: "Ginny" — Short for Virginia or Ginevra?

**Luckycharms445:** Um, sorry. Harry's jerkiness is totally finished, though. Forgive me for doing it; he had to. And that girlfriend thing? Well, by the end of the fic, there _may_ be a remedy . . .

**Puss:** I completely agree with you on both accounts. Ginny stepped way over the line, and now has to deal with angry Harry. Not fun. Also, I agree that Harry is a bit of a dunce I this fic, but he's always been when it comes to girls. Don't worry, he'll figure it out sooner or later.

**Katjajett:** I know about the whole anger thing, both on Harry and Ginny's part seems kinda bizarre. But you have to rmember these are two very dynamic people with short tempers. And especially in this fic, Harry is confused and frustrated, thus angry. Thanks for the review.

**Wolf's Scream:** I am so mortified at how many grammatical errors I let slip last chapter. Thank you so much for correcting me. I promise I'll edit and repost it when I get the chance. Also, I can't thank you enough for your reviews, I need all the help I can get when it comes to boys' thoughts. From the books, Harry doesn't handle change he can't control well. Instead of coping with new emotions, he gets angry. Also, the boy's got quite a temper. I tried to balance all of that, but yeah, Harry's a bit daft. He's also pretty girl-ignorant.

**Halfcrazy:** Thank You! What an enthusiastic review! I'll try . . .

**Harte:** I've had a lot of mixed responses from the fight. I'm so glad someone gets it! Harry doesn't mean to be an idiot, he just can't help it, yeah?

**Special thanks to all of my reviewers. I truly love you guys!**

Cheers

WQ


	4. Because I want it all

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything connected to J.K. Rowling

This chapter is dedicated to **A Lack of Color** for writing the very first chaptered H/G fic I ever read.

* * *

Harry gripped his broomstick, willing himself not to look across the locker room at Ginny again. Ron was winding down his pre-game pep talk minutes before they were due on the pitch. Harry swallowed the sick lump in his throat.

Since breakfast, he'd not seen Ginny anywhere. It hadn't taken him a moment to realize belatedly the depth of his transgression. He was horribly ashamed for teasing her, calling names; the rude words he'd shouted in anger replayed themselves again and again in his head. Guilt burned in the pit of his stomach. Harry had abused and hurt someone because he couldn't deal with his own problems.

The wizard had never felt lower. His self-righteous attitude condemning Malfoy all those years mocked him. Harry had done worse than what he'd been unable to pardon his own _father_ for.

He couldn't focus. Since Ginny had swept into the locker room seconds before Ron's practiced speech, the witch hadn't removed her stony glare from her older brother. She looked every inch the picture of an enchanting ice queen: distanced and regal. Her back was board-stiff, jaw set, the determined look she wore before every game was deeply intensified.

Harry caught her eye as the team huddled together before leaving. He tried to mouth a "sorry," but her coffee brown eyes flickered away instantly.

The whistle sounded and Harry's broom soared in the air with a start. He had to admit it, Quidditch — no matter what — was _wonderful_. After the team's first practice, he'd flown around by himself for hours reveling in freedom, but _now_ — with the stadium filled with color, Madame Hooch looking yellow-eyed as ever, the fans screaming, adrenaline coursing through his veins, soaring through the air even after the toad Umbridge had done her worst — the seeker was home. Harry flew a couple loop-the-loops to settle his stomach, the rush of wind tosseling his hair. It never got old, the feeling of absolute liberty.

His whoop of joy, however, was effectively interrupted. It just wasn't fair. The few exalting minutes he had in the sky were shot to pieces when Gryffindor scored.

"And Weasley makes the first goal of the game. It's 10-0!" Bugger. He _had_ to go and make a berk out of himself before the game which, of course, jarred his brain whenever he thought about her hurt expression.

Every time Harry caught a flash of Weasley red, he stopped short, vainly anticipating the bright smile Ginny often threw his way during practice.

_Concentrate, Harry_. He spurred his broom faster, focusing all of his thoughts around the snitch.

"—And another 10 points to Gryffindor! This marks the eighth score for Ms. Weasley today- Wow! Quite a fine _ass_-et to the . . . sorry McGonagall." The loudspeaker faded into the crowd. Harry scowled again. Just exactly how many people knew the _assets_ of the littlest Weasley?

Against his better judgment, Harry paused in the air to watch the rest of the game. Ginny had the Quaffle again, manhandling her way through the Ravenclaw chasers. Sloper was wide open for a pass, but the redhead wouldn't have any of it. She charged the goals again, pummeling the ball at the opposite Keeper.

"Another 10! Weasley, Go out with me! I'll let you score with _my _b —" The loudspeaker filled with static. No one ever could quite explain _exactly_ how a rogue bludger managed to end up hurling into the stands and breaking the announcer's nose.

And then, Harry saw it. He breathed an unconscious sigh of relief and darted after the winged snitch. Seeker reflexes kicked in as the boy weaved between players, now only feet away from his target.

WHAM! Harry flipped askance on his broom, sliding sideways on the polished handle. He had been caught totally unprepared for the impact of the opposing seeker. He gasped in surprise, quickly righting himself. That moment of collision was all it took. The snitch was gone. Harry stared after Cho Chang's retreating form —not missing the satisfied twist in her jaw — and cursed himself for allowing her to execute such a simple trick.

He gained altitude, careful to keep a wary eye out for shiny black hair. It was only now, at the far end of the pitch, did the seeker realize that his once acrobatic stomach felt nothing for the attractive Ravenclaw.

That thought brought Harry's head 'round to where he knew Ginny was flying. His best Quidditch instincts screamed at him to focus on the game but were swiftly ignored and shoved aside. He vaguely checked for Cho, who was hovering about 50 yards away, watching him. _Real original, Chang._Finding no real threat (to say the least) in the opposition, Harry continued Ginny-watching.

She really had gotten quite pretty. Harry supposed if Aphrodite lived in London, she'd have brilliant, scarlet hair, slender hands, and sensual eyes. And yeah, he had **no** idea where that came from . . . but whatever. No one ever accused him of being elegant.

With Cho, he'd been smitten from day one. The hair, the mystery . . . _the posse of giggling girls_. Gag. So, aside from lovely figures, these girls had nothing in common.

Harry frowned; feeling like someone had painfully squeezed his insides together. He didn't want to row with Ginny, yet somehow it was all he was able to do. Well, that or succumb to the recent and frighteningly acute desire to pin her against the nearest wall and make reality out of his dreams. Which, you know, wouldn't work out too well because she most likely despised him right now because of said rows.

Anyway . . . Ginny scored again. Harry winced, knowing full well what it was that fueled her abilities today.

He had hurt her terribly. Maybe it had been the memory of Ginny's slender fingers cupped around her mouth in shock that pounded at his conscience. Maybe it was the disbelief in her eyes that did it. Either way, he missed her dreadfully. At the time it seemed like such a good idea: get even after exchanging hateful and thoughtless barbs. But once his anger had faded away, so did the feeling in him that demanded retribution. Harry _hated_ rowing.

Sudden movement caught his eye. Some Ravenclaw chaser was streaking down the field, Kirke hot on his broomstick. Further on down the pitch, Harry saw Ginny's streamline profile, waiting in perfect position to bottleneck the opposing chaser as he flew by. But wait a second . . . he caught a flash of gold around her ear. Surely she wasn't wearing jewelry?

Harry gasped, reflexes springing into action before conscious realization. He launched himself at her, the tiny, winged snitch zooming unnoticed around Ginny's shoulders. Harry picked up speed, certain to beat Cho, the game was yards — centimeters — millimeters — closer . . his breath caught in anticipation. Harry's outstretched fingers closed around the delicate snitch, capturing it's translucent wings in his palm.

"Harry! What are you —!"

All too slowly came the immediate problem of momentum, objects in motion, himself, and Ginny Weasley- dead on impact. _Not good._

For the second time that match, Harry painfully collided with a bundle of robes, brooms, and elbows. _Oops._ He pulled himself away moments before getting smashed by the onslaught of the rest of the Gryffindor team. Someone was beating congratulations rather painfully on his back, people were shrieking, the smell of sweat clogged the mass cluster.

He caught her toffee eyes somewhere in the middle and winced. As if he weren't enough of a bloke, hurling into her, broom and all, wasn't very endearing. Harry looked pointedly at the snitch still in his fingers, shrugging. No dice. Ginny rolled her eyes, shot him a dirty look, and disappeared into the scarlet and gold mass.

_Well, we've won, at least. _

xXx

"'S'up mate, you look . . . peaky." Harry was sprawled in his favorite armchair, sipping his pumpkin juice, and trying very hard to ignore the stream of confetti bewitched to float about the room, dumping itself on random party-goers.

He grunted noncommittally. "Seen Ginny?" There was no point in pretending her absence had nothing to do with his spirits. Ron shook his head. "We rowed again," he grunted, answering the silent inquiry.

"Oh."

Just then, a mass of bushy curls slid into the chair next to him. Hermione had a pasty in one had and what looked suspiciously like a Weasley sweater in the other. "Oh, Harry! I've been looking for you everywhere! Are you quite alright? You look a bit shattered. Anyway, I think this," she gestured to the maroon clothing in her fist, "is . . . oh. Hullo, Ron." Hermione flushed a deep red.

Harry rolled his eyes at the pair. The witch took a breath to collect herself and continued. "Oh, Ron. Is this yours? I found it just there on the girl's stairs," Ron looked every bit as uncomfortable as she did, his ears a brilliant crimson. "Well, I thought I'd just see, you know, because it's irresponsible to leave your things lying about. And who knows what people might have said, with your clothing all over the girls' . . . and well, _here_." She shoved the offending garment in his hands and stared resolutely at the table.

"Er- right. Thanks." Ron glanced down at the jumper, a dull maroon that looked small even waded up in his hands. "Actually," he paused, chewing his lip. "Well, this is, er, old. And your mangy cat must've fished it out of my room," he ignored her huff of protest. "Um, well, it obviously doesn't fit, but maybe . . . I mean it was already on the stairs." He stopped speaking, and looked very much like he'd love to run as fast as he could out of the room. "'J'ewannit?"

"Pardon?"

Harry almost laughed at the kill-me-now look on his best friend's face. "I mean, you know, you can — that is — if you want. Youcanavit." He thrust the sweater back at her. Hermione's eyes snapped open even wider, a feat that made her look impressively owlish.

"It's — well, it's _yours_." Ron scowled. "Fine," he snapped. You don't _have_ to. I was just thinking —"

"I'd love it." The redhead blinked at her. "F-for Crookshanks." She lightly fingered the edge of a cuff. Hermione bit her lip. "Or, you know, if it's really, really cold, and I can't find any of mine, and . . . er, thank you." She took the sweater back and held it against her chest.

Ron visibly relaxed. "Yeah, I mean I've got loads of 'em. Mum won't mind."

Harry had to bite his cheek hard to keep from simply exploding with mirth. He clutched his sides together, shaking with silent laughter. Both his friends were beet-red, smiling timidly at each other. From the way Hermione was holding the sweater, Harry had the distinct impression that the jumper, old and worn as it was, wasn't ever going anywhere _near _Crookshanks.

"And what is the matter with you?" Hermione's tone had changed back to it's usual businesslike pitch.

"Huh?" He started. Both she and Ron had apparently gotten over their "moment" and were now staring at him expectantly.

"Come on now, what's up? You've been awfully gloomy all this time."

Harry sighed. "Ginny and I rowed again," he repeated in the same toneless manner he had to Ron minutes ago.

"Oh, _Harry_," Hermione fussed. "Did she say anything about . . . you know, again?"

He shook his head, groaning inwardly. Harry thought he preferred the tiptoeing-on-eggshells approach when it came to his dead family, but now he missed the honest, no-nonsense attitude of Ginny's. "No. This was my fault."

Hermione cast him an odd glance, as if deciding whether or not to say what she was thinking. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. After . . . yesterday, when I saw her this morning, I just snapped. I — I said some things. Called her names. I think she wanted to apologize but I lost control."

Hermione chewed her lip, pondering. "Harry," she began slowly. "I saw her a bit after the game. She was in a bad way. The thing is, why would a bit of a fight set her off so? I mean, she _has_ grown up with six prats." The witch shot Ron a half smirk. "I think she'd be used to it."

Ron huffed, glaring across Harry. "Maybe she wasn't used to it coming from _Haaarry_ and all." Hermione slapped him on the shoulder.

"It was weird though," the bespectacled wizard mused out loud. "One minute, she was shouting right back at me, the next . . . it was like someone had flipped a switch."

"You didn't make her . . ._cry_, did you?" Hermione asked timorously.

"No!"

"No good," Ron interrupted. "Gin never cries. At least, not for real. I think with Gred and Forge she pretends to—" the witch gave a loud, false cough that sounded like 'get to the point.' "Right. Well, what did you say to her?"

Harry thought for a minute. He didn't want to repeat the snide things he'd said, shame welling up inside him, but couldn't see a way out of it. "Er — I didn't mean it. Honestly, I wasn't trying to—"

"We believe you, Harry." Hermione said softly. "Everybody says things they don't mean . . ." Harry didn't miss the shift of her eyes toward Ron.

"Er- I told her I never, you know, wanted to see her again," Harry stumbled over his words. They sounded so much worse now than earlier. "I said she was out of her mind, I—I called her names." He was speaking much faster now. "Said she was foolish, and silly, and just a little girl who didn't know anything." He stared at the empty cup in his hands, waiting for judgment from his friends. Noise of the party was still going strong in the background.

Ron cleared his throat. "Well, then. That wasn't so bad." Harry blinked at him. "Of course I should be right upset that you treated her badly and blah, blah, blah, protective brother stuff, but . . . I've done worse." He frowned. "Much worse, come to think. Ginny's always bounced back, though. Anyway, I know you didn't mean it."

Harry felt an abrupt rush of gratitude for his friend. "Thanks, mate."

Hermione was still carefully watching him, lost in thought, her lips moving silently. Suddenly, the witch clamped her palm to her forehead. Her brown eyes shot open. "Oh, _Harry_," she breathed, shaking her head.

"What?"

"It has to be," she muttered to herself. "But surely . . . I can't —" Hermione turned to face him. She appeared to be doing a lot of fast thinking. "Harry," she began slowly, choosing her words with great care. "What if — what if what _you_ said wasn't that horrible. I mean, if someone called me foolish, well, there are worse things to be sure . . ." This time Ron coughed loudly. "Harry, can you think of _anyone else_ who may have said something like what you did to her?"

Harry mulled over it, shaking his head slowly. Well, perhaps Peeves. Or Snape. He didn't know. And Malfoy had his share of insults . . . The wizard paused abruptly, an instant years and years ago resurfacing in his memory.

"_Little Ginny . . . silly little troubles . . . stupid girl . . . foolish little brat . . ." _

_Oh. Oh no. Oh** hell** no. _It **couldn't** be. Harry felt the incredible urge to retch. "Riddle," he choked. "And I said . . . sodding hell." Harry held his head in his hands. No wonder she had been so shocked. Ironic, wasn't it, that her _savior_ from the Chamber turned out to be no less of a low life than Voldemort himself? "She must _hate _me," he whispered, his voice oddly thick.

Ron made a strange sort of clucking noise. "Of course she doesn't. Well, I doubt it anyway." "Not helping, Ron," Hermione softly chided.

"Will she forgive me? Ever? Oh, the horrible, _horrible_ things I said."

Hermione patted him on the shoulder. "Sure she will. Just . . . explain that you didn't know."

_Because that would go over well_. 'Hey, Ginny. Look, I'm really sorry about doing a Tom Riddle on you and reliving your worst nightmare. I know I totally and completely shot your trust, but it was only because I wanna snog your brains out and can't deal with that.'

"We Weasleys are a stubborn lot, mate, but she'll come around."

Harry looked at him in disbelief. "You should be beating me to a pulp right now."

Ron coughed. "Yes, well, I think Ginny can handle pulp-beating all by herself. I just know how rotten you must feel about it." He looked away for a second. "Believe me, I do." Harry raised his eyebrows, shooting Hermione a questioning glance. She shrugged. Ron wasn't telling them something.

The gangly redhead shook off his mood and stood up. "Right then. Best of luck with Ginny. You'll need it." He yawned, the tips of his ears flushing when Hermione caught his eye. "I'm off. G'night."

Harry rubbed his temples, too overwhelmed to think of any witty jeers. Hermione had begun to play with the hem of the jumper again, humming softly to herself. "Hermione, if you . . . see Ginny tonight, will you tell her —"

"Of course I will," she said firmly.

"I feel like a right flobberworm," he muttered. It was bad enough when he believed he was lower than Malfoy. Now, he'd reached Dark Lord extremes. "I wouldn't blame her if she never came 'round." His friend patted him again on the arm.

"Harry, we all know you'd _never_ mean that. Never. If I see her, I'll talk to her." She smiled wryly. "Besides, everyone knows you and Ron haven't got enough sense to fill an eggcup." He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "I'll see you, Harry. Do try to apologize." And she left as well, leaving Harry alone in the midst of a troll-sized mess from the party.

Harry sighed, heaving himself off the chair. He transfigured a paper cup into a trash bag and began to straighten the room. The wizard didn't want to retire to his room yet, and Hermione would be pleased, at least: less work for the house elves.

Just as he finished with the remains of torn and soggy confetti strewn on the ground, Harry caught sight of two enormous green eyes. "Mr. Harry Potter sir is awake!"

"'Lo Dobby." He smiled at the elf, dressed in his usual assortment of hats, scarves, and socks.

Dobby tutted, making a show of snatching the bag from Harry's fingers. "You is not having to do that, Mr. Harry sir. Dobby is _proud_ to come after so great a match." He gazed up at the wizard in pure adoration. "Dobby is _honored_ to come!"

Harry smiled a bit; all the freedom in the world wouldn't change some things. _Hermione should see this . . ._ "Look, I'm sort of waiting for someone down here," he said, thinking of Ginny (wherever she was).

"Harry Potter is sad!" Dobby wailed, clutching onto his legs like a toddler would his mother.

"Er- no. 'S'alright," Harry murmured, fighting to pry Dobby off of his ankles. "I was just — you wouldn't happen to know where Ginny is, would you?"

The elf turned his lamp-like eyes on him again. "Ahh, Miss Weezy!" He frowned. "Has Harry Potter lost her?"

"Sort of," Harry admitted.

"Dobby is sorry for Harry, that he has lost his lady friend. Dobby sees Miss Weezy around the castle. Sometimes, sir, Dobby finds her alone, or with . . ." Harry could have sworn the house elf was blushing. "with her _wizard_ friends. Miss Weezy visits Dobby in the kitchens. Dobby is pleased to serve friends of Harry Potter!"

Harry coughed, feeling his cheeks grow hot. He fought to keep his voice even. _She might be snogging some poxy bloke even now._ Harry tried not to let his face fall. "Well, thanks."

"Wait!" The house elf attacked him again, dragging Harry back. "Dobby_ has_ seen the young Weezy tonight. On his way here from the kitchens, Dobby spied her." He paused. "_Alone_."

"Thanks, Dobby." The house elf was smiling at him with a sly grin. "Why is Mr. Harry sir wanting to know?" His cheeky grin broadened.

Harry's eyes widened, considerably shocked at the innuendo laced in his question. "She's my _friend_," he defended firmly. "It's not like _that_." The creature immediately looked abashed, his large ears drooping. He burst into tears, flinging himself on the floor with a light thud.

"Forgive Dobby, sir. Dobby believes Harry Potter. Dobby will never question good, kind, humble, great Harry Potter again." Harry jumped forward, alarmed. He half expected Hermione to come ranting down the stairs, steam trailing out of her ears with fury at any moment.

Harry awkwardly patted Dobby on his head. "No, no, no. It's okay. It's fine. Dobby, you don't have to do that. Really, it's alright." The wrinkled, brown, creature nodded, picking himself off the juice-stained carpet, and gave him a watery smile. "Wait here for your Weezy."

Nearly an hour later, the wizard was slumped over in the armchair, fast asleep, still "waiting" for Ginny. He stirred awake when the portrait door creaked open. Harry wiped his mouth, blinking back his sleep. He saw the unmistakable swish of red hair, then ducked behind the back of his armchair. He suddenly wished to be back in his dormitory, hidden from the pretty witch's powerful hexes and temper.

The bespectacled wizard did some quick figuring: his chair faced away from the portrait hole so he wouldn't be seen until she had crossed the centre of the room to go up the girls' stairs. Harry figured he had about 10 seconds. Fate, it seemed, mercifully had other plans. He heard the witch sink into another chair near the exit. At their precise angles, Harry was safely concealed from her view. Harry let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

It was a comic sight. Harry Potter — who had fought the Dark Lord 7 times and survived — twisted behind the tall chair back so Ginny wouldn't see him. His fingers itched toward his wand. Harry peered around the corner for a fraction of a second. He had no idea what the witch was doing, or how long she'd be content to sit there and do it.

He could summon his invisibility cloak and be securely hidden — at the small risk of her seeing his minimally-conspicuous silver cloak whiz through the air. Harry felt his Adam's apple bob. _What am I doing?_

Harry'd seen Ron angry. He'd experienced Mrs. Weasley's saber-toothed wrath firsthand. But the boy couldn't handle a combination of the two, mixed with the hurt he'd caused. Harry had no idea what he could possibly say to explain himself. He wanted dearly to hold her, tell the witch how very _sorry_ he was, maybe stroke her shiny hair . . .

What he needed was a diversion. Harry stared dully at his wand. In one swift motion, he peered over the chair again, aimed his wand in the opposite direction, and whispered an incantation. Sure enough, a small vase shattered across the room.

Ginny started, turning away from Harry and the boys' stairs. "_Accio cloak_." In the few seconds it had taken the witch to shake her head and mutter _Reparo_, Harry had the silver bolt of cloth in his hands.

No sooner had he slipped it over his head, than Ginny called out to the room. "Hello?" Silence. "Seamus, did you pinch Harry's cloak again to see me? Because, you know, that's getting kind of old."

Harry stiffened. Ginny and _Seamus_ rendezvoused together? More than once? And _how_ did Finnigan know that he had the cloak? He made a mental note to do some Gryffindor-sleuthing and eased himself out of his hiding place, facing a whole new barrage of worries.

Yes, he was invisible, but Ginny could just as easily slip the cloak off of him. Would she? And he couldn't very well say anything to her because then she'd know his voice . . . and why the bloody blazes couldn't he be a Gryffindor and have the spine to apologize like a man?

Fortunately for Harry, Ginny wasn't in an attacking mood. She slumped onto the squashy sofa, folding her arms. "Look, I'm not going to beg you to show yourself." He could almost hear her roll her eyes. "So whenever you decide to do whatever it is you came for feel free to let me know. To tell you the truth, I'm getting kind of creeped out."

Harry paused. _So, what next?_ He could actually hear Ron laughing at him in his head. Honestly, Harry couldn't explain it, but he kind of _liked_ the anonymity. He felt . . . empowered. _Maybe that's why Finnigan did it_. The wizard pulled the fabric closer to his body, careful to remain hidden.

_Okay Potter, you're acting fit to be a poof. **Do** something_. Harry silently made his way to the stairs. He paused on the bottom step, looking at Ginny again. She had her feet propped up of the armrest of the sofa, twirling a quill between her fingers. She was half-smiling, like someone had told her a secret she already knew.

_Do you hate me? What were you doing all night? Do you know how very pretty you are? _Harry smiled at her; it was the only thing he could think of. Somehow, he'd ask her forgiveness. Tonight, though, the wizard couldn't find it in him to scar her serene face with a scowl. (And he was scared magic-less about her reaction)

Harry climbed a step, pulling out his wand one more time. He wanted to leave Ginny with something. Something to say without words that he thought she was beautiful, that he was sorry. And that he wasn't some crazy stalker. Harry whispered an incantation and a silver spark flew across the room, tugging a lock of the witch's fiery hair out of it's bun. It brushed against her cheek, kissing her jaw line.

Ginny fingered the lock, the corners of her mouth parted slightly in flattered surprise. Harry slipped off to his room, not missing the fully-fledged grin that blossomed on to her features.

Harry was changed and lying in his bed before he noticed Ron's usual snores were absent. "Took you long enough," his friend muttered sleepily.

Harry grinned into the darkness, knowing full well Ron hadn't been awake the whole time. "Say Ron. Can _I_ have one of your sweaters? You know, if it's really, really cold . . . ?"

* * *

**A.N.:** I apologize for the lateness of this installment. I've been plodding along, trying to get it right. Nothing too exciting, sorry. Congratulations to all you clever, clever, reviewers who knew what the significance of Harry's comments were! Points for you! Also on The Question, actually, I didn't know the "official" answer was posted anywhere. Next time I'll think of a better one. Anyway, please don't flame me about the whole Ron/jumper thing. I **had** to do it. Couldn't help it. Yay R/Hr!

**CravingPassion** I've got to say, your pen-name suits you quite well. And I'm sorry if rows make you uncomfortable, but we're dealing with two very dynamic, temperamental, people who **will **fight. (R/Hr, anyone?) If done correctly, H/G fights spark great character development and are anthing but stupid. And as for the snogging thing, well — it takes some time to build up the proper emotion foundation before canon characters can have a physical relationship, don't you agree? However, I promise, there will be kissing in the future. And honestly, the difference between smut and real romance is the background developed before all the kissing.

**Slugabed:** Thank You! No, **you** rock! (lol) And I know, in the books, Hermione's never abbreviated. But I figured by the middle of sixth year or so, Ron'd call her that to save syllables and give her a pet-name. Notice, that _no one else_ in this fic calls her that. He's special! Thanks, again.

**Chelles** Ahh, isn't Ron wonderful? I've always thought of him as a really great brother-type. A bit of teasing, making sure no one else does, protective (but not crazy like the common stereotype), and wants to hook her up with HP. Lovely reviews, please let me know what you think!

**heenie**Gah! They're both at fault, eh? You're absolutely right! Hmm, what we'd give for a black and white world. Well, all I can say is that the proverbial "kiss and make up" theory may have it's merits . . .

**Wolf's Scream:** As always, it's immensely helpful to hear from you. Personally, though, I kinda empathize with both of 'em.

ﻼﻼﻼ

**And now — a special salute to all of my very special reviewers:**

**Have I told you lately that I love you?**

**Have I told you there's nothing else above you?**

**You fill my heart with gladness,**

**Take away all my sadness,**

**Ease my trouble, that's what you doooo. **

NOTE: Any resemblance from my carefully worded thank you and a certain song is strictly coincidence and not a device used to hopefully skirt around the "no lyrics" ruling. And I really do LUV you loads!

**Cheers**

**WQ**

P.S. ONE reviewer has identified a common theme in an aspect of my chapters. That theme is also a clue- to when the first kiss will be. Can you find it?

Hint If your stressing about this puzzle, don't fret. Stay on the _brightside_ of things.


	5. It started out with a kiss

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything connected to J.K. Rowling

This chapter is dedicated to **Chelles **for making me very happy every time she reviews.

* * *

"Ginny . . . Ginny! . . . GINNY!" Harry puffed after the witch, straining to catch up to her. He'd spotted her at the top of the stairs a few minutes ago, and had been chasing after her since then. The obvious problem that she had gone deaf made it immensely harder to get her attention, and Harry discovered that even while she wasn't running per se, Ginny could move awfully fast when suited.

"Oi!" He shouted. "Wait up!" She whirled around and shot him a rather rude hand gesture. _Well, at least she can hear me._

Harry rolled his eyes. Hogwarts was only so big, and she couldn't ignore him forever. He had perfect stamina build from years of running all over Little Whinging followed by Dudley and his gang of cronies.

He paused, however, when Ginny neared a staircase that was just about to levitate itself to the next floor. Waiting for it to come back would take long minutes he couldn't afford to let her get ahead. It was absurd, really. For the past two days, the witch had skillfully avoided his apology.

_Sorry, Ginny._ Harry whipped out his wand and aimed it at her bag. With a loud ripping noise, her bag split in two. Her books, parchment, and quills tumbled across the floor. Ginny swore loudly as the stairs drifted off by themselves. She furiously began collecting her scattered belongings, shoving them into her ruined shoulder bag.

"Don't, Potter."

Harry half-smirked, leaning over to help her gather her books. "I believe your exact words were 'you can't make me.'"

"I thought you never wanted to see me," she spat back. Harry's smile fell. _Ouch._ "And, you know, I don't have time for this, so if you'll excuse me," Ginny stood and moved to brush past him.

"No, wait!" He seized the hem of her robes, tugging her back. Ginny made a noise like an angry cat, pulling away.

"I swear, if you do not let go this inst—" With a final heave, Harry upset the witch's balance and she toppled to the floor in a heap beside him. He ignored Ginny's outraged shriek and promptly sat on her ankles, pinning her to the ground. Harry didn't notice, but the seen looked remarkably similar to another years ago on a certain holiday . . .

"Harry — you — gerroff—" She pulled at her feet, sputtering like a hot teakettle.

"Right then," he continued unabashed. He looked up at her angry face, finding his rehearsed apology dissolving. "Er—" Ginny's pretty features were contorted into a mask of anger. Her arms were folded across her chest, fingers tapping impatiently. To his horror, Harry spotted a few passersby lingering to watch the scene.

"Can't — feel — my — feet —" She snarled.

**_Say_**_ something. _"Do you want to get some tea?" _Okay . . ._

"Tea." She repeated flatly. He shrugged. "You've been after me for days to ask if I wanted _tea_?" Harry winced. "Are you mental?"

"It's the only way you'll get your feet back. C'mon." She rolled her eyes. "Please, Gin?" Harry bit his lip, acutely aware of how pathetic he sounded.

She shrugged one shoulder. "You weigh a lot more than you look. Get off." Harry obliged, standing and offering her a hand up as well. Ginny glared, slapping it out of the way. "I can get up by myself, Potter." She smoothed her robes down the front. "And I'm only coming for the tea."

Harry sipped his drink eyeing Ginny from across the table. The two teenagers were in the kitchens sitting cross-legged in front of an elf- height table. She had her chin cupped in her hand, staring at the wall. Harry had nearly memorized her lean profile by now. Ginny was absentmindedly stirring her tea with her little finger, pausing every now and then to suck a drop off of it's tip. She had grown up, he realized with force. She didn't need protecting anymore. He took another swallow, brushing away the sudden pang of loss.

"I'm sorry."

Ginny started, snapping her eyes back to him. "Forget it."

"No, I shouldn't've —"

"I _said_ forget it." She lifted the cup to her lips, closing her eyes momentarily. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does," he shot back fiercely. The Boy-Who-Lived swallowed the lump of nervousness growing in his throat. "I — I'm sorry. I said some things that —"

"Sticks and stones, _love_." Harry vaguely marveled at the sheer Snape-ness of her retort; complete with curled lip and scornful drawl. He found himself growing hot all over.

"Would you let me finish?" he snapped. _Gah__!-__ I'm doing it again._ "Bullocks, woman, you're just — I don't even know what!" Ginny snorted into her cup, amused by his outburst and retraction.

"Okay." _Breathe, Potter_. "Let me try that again. I was a sodding idiot. Ginny — I'm not very good at this kind of thing, but I really, really, mean it. You didn't deserve any of . . . what I said. No one should be forced to relive they're worst memories. " Harry stared at his hands. "I was wrong. You just — Ginny you drive me nutters. I can't tell if you're barking mad, or . . . brilliant. And I reckon you're the only person with a worse temper than mine."

He heard a small huff. "Well it's true. You are stubborn, and opinionated, and . . . er, I'm sorry for losing it like that. I pulled a real Malfoy," he made a face at the thought. "I betrayed your trust."

"I'm sorry too," she said after a long moment. "For saying those things about Sirius. I was out of line — he's_ your_ family." For a second or two, she looked like she had more to say, but decided against it.

Harry scratched his nose uncomfortably. Another minute ticked by in awkward silence. He couldn't decide if he and Ginny were okay now or not. She was still wearing half a scowl. Regardless, he continued, determined to say what he came for. "Please, Ginny . . . I know I don't know much about you, but — er — I'd like to fix that." Harry chanced a look at the witch.

Ginny looked like she had crammed one of her mothers' Easter eggs whole into her mouth. The corners of her lips were twitching with her suppressed smile. "You are _so_ pathetic— it's kind of cute." She sighed, draining her cup. "Good tea."

Women. Raving nutters, the lot of 'em.

"So . . . Ginny . . . "

"Yes?"

"Um, I haven't really . . . ever treated you well." He flushed. "But I don't think you're a little girl anymore." _Not by a long shot. _"You're . . . different. And I've been a right git but . . . maybe . . . can — can we start over?"

She looked him over, her brown eyes flicking up and down his form. Harry was nastily aware of his unkept hair and the bit of tea he had accidentally dripped on his sleeve. A second later though, Ginny's face broke into a wide grin.

"'Course. But you're on probation." She extended her hand, smiling cheekily. "Ginny Weasley."

Harry took it, giving her fingers a light squeeze. "Harry Potter."

And even after their tentative handshake, Harry still could almost feel her soft palm against his.

xXx

_Thud._

Harry was in the library, tucked away from the watchful eye of Madame Pince in a secluded corner. What he needed was privacy to sort some _things _out. He and Ginny had talked for quite a while that afternoon.

She had matured without him ever noticing. Harry underestimated just how much the redheaded witch understood about him and the reality of war. She knew things about evil that he'd only just come to grips with. That was the part that hit him like a herd if hippogriffs; Ginny had seen the ugliest side of life and still refused to despair. The littlest Weasley wasn't a force to be taken lightly, Harry realized as they chatted over another cup of tea.

_Thud._

Harry banged his head again. It hit him like a club between the eyes. There was an undeniable, very definite possibility that Harry might fancy the freckles off of her. It shouldn't have been a surprise. He had been toying with the idea of a serious snog with Ginny for days now . . . but the idea that he could honestly, deeply, genuinely, care about someone in a "you-complete-me" kind of way was not good.

_Thud._

Harry groaned aloud, desperately fighting to ignore the swell of his stomach when he thought about her impossibly soft hands. It didn't make sense, he reasoned with himself. He had only just become _friends_ with her for Merlin's sake. And it was a _probation_ alliance at that! And _why_ did she have to get all pretty? And how shallow was he for only caring when she did? And weren't there more important things to be focusing on anyway? And isn't it against some obscure grammar ordinance to begin a sentence with a coordinative conjunction?

_Well, there goes occlumacy . . . _

"Excellent day for Kvaddle-itch hunting." A dreamy voice broke into his thoughts.

_Thu _— "Whazat?" Harry paused, his head inches from the sleek table top in the library.

"I said excellent day for Kvaddle-itch hunting. Although you seem to be . . . . engaged already," the voice continued. Harry looked up to find Luna Lovegood seated next to him, staring out the library window. Her hair was pulled into a knot on the crown of her head, held together by what looked like two carrots.

Harry didn't bother to ask what a Kvaddle-itch was. No doubt some runt cousin of the Snorkracket- whatsit. "I say," she continued, still staring out at Hogwarts' grounds. "You can try it if you'd like, but I'm not sure how successful you'll be."

"Try . . . what?" Harry asked thickly. He had rather a lot to think about _without_ Luna's vague commentary.

"Beating that scar out of your head. You'd have better luck with a potion. My father did an article on Australian wizards who've found that all skin markings can be cured by drinking swamp water during the new moon. Naked." She paused for dramatic effect. "While standing on your head."

Harry blinked. "Right. Well, I'll keep that in mind." _Thud._ Harry banged his head on the counter again. The blonde witch propped her feet up on a bookshelf and started humming.

"Why are you still here?" Harry knew he was acting rather rude but didn't care. Luna turned her misty, protuberant eyes onto him for the first time, watching him with mild interest.

"Why are _you_ here? I haven't seen Hermione around." Harry noticed her voice cooled as she pronounced his friends' name.

"No," he muttered, still not sure if speaking to Luna was a good idea. "I sort of . . . need some privacy, you know?"

"Ahh," she nodded sagely. "I frequently find that self-punishment is best done away from the crowd."

"No, I . . . bugger." It could be worse, Harry thought to himself. Luna was eccentric, no question — she had vegetables growing out of her head for Merlin's sake — but maybe . . . well, she was a girl after all. Maybe she'd know what to do.

"Hey Luna," he began slowly. "Well, I don't know if you can help me or not, but . . . oh, never mind." Harry turned moodily back to the counter.

"Harry," Luna said in an uncharacteristically serious voice. "You are odd."

"Yeah, well, nobody's perfect." The witch made an impatient tutting sound. "Oh, _fine_," he huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe I'm . . .If _Ron_ saw this . . . have you ever . . . .— what if — _bullocks_ . . . what if — what if you knew this _person_, see? And you never . . . or you_ thought_ you knew them, at least. But you didn't really. And then when you found out who they really were you sort of . . . well, you got this — er – you . . . well, what do you do?"

Luna chewed her lip thoughtfully, as if she understood exactly what Harry was trying to say. "Well, do you fancy her?"

"What?" Harry nearly fell out of his chair. "How did you —?"

"Harry, the only time you can't complete your sentences is when you're very angry, shocked, or talking about girls."

"Oh." And he had successfully come full circle. _Congratulation, mate.__ You're as batty as Lovegood. _"But I can't — there's no way— she makes me so _mad _sometimes. I wouldn't have the first clue . . . "

"Harry," Luna chided. "You are a very extraordinary wizard. But surely you know that some things simply cannot be changed." She was smiling slightly.

"Er— can't they? I mean, isn't it better to pretend —"

"Oh, come on," Luna murmured, not taking her eyes off of him. Harry began to shift uncomfortably; it was not the first time he had noticed she didn't seem to blink as much as normal humans. "Even you, Harry, with You-Know-Who and this horrible war to worry about, even you, cannot change what's in here." She pointed at her chest dramatically and sighed. Her eyes had misted over again, and Harry could have sworn they had grown even larger.

"But I don't know if I even, you know . . . _like_ her. And she's over me," he muttered lamely, more for his sake than hers.

"Well, then," Luna stood, patting him on the arm. "You must _find out_."

Harry cursed himself as soon as Luna was out of earshot. "Because, you know, _finding out_ is a right subtle business," he murmured to no one in particular.

xXx

He'd been in the library the rest of the day, first spending a ridiculous amount of time arguing about whether or not he fancied Ginny — the answer was a firm **_yes, _**— then pondering exactly how possible it was to fall for someone in the space of a fortnight — apparently, very, — and lastly, wondering how to go about _finding out _if he had more than a passing infatuation, and what _she _thought of _him _without making a complete arse out of himself.

Tricky.

It was just before curfew. Harry was in the common room, trying to concentrate on his wand work. Lupin had taken him aside at the end of the summer, informing Harry that the Order thought it best to give him additional defense exercises to practice over the year. The wizard usually worked in the Room of Requirement, but he knew no one would bother him here so late at night.

Last Hogsmeade weekend a humpback witch poked Harry with her cane and handed him a slip of paper. _Concealment spells: disillusion_. "Wotcher, Potter." The old witch winked and disappeared. A member of the Order usually gave him his assignments during those weekends, disguised in some fashion.

He screwed up his concentration, rapping himself over the head with his wand. Harry willed himself to feel the odd sensation of an egg being cracked over his hair, camouflaging his body to the colors of the room. Nothing.

He sighed, not at all surprised the spell had failed. It took a good bit of focus to do it properly and Harry's mind wouldn't cooperate. He could all too clearly remember Ginny's spectacular loss to the Creevy brothers at Exploding Snap earlier that night, especially when her final stack burst into flames, singeing her eyebrows. She had shrieked, jumping out of the way. Harry had caught her eye then, and was pleasantly surprised when she blushed faintly.

He shook the memory out of his head, tapping his wand harder than before. _Ow__—_ Harry started, shocked when he felt the queer, egg-drip sensation trickle down his head, then neck. He looked down, his torso and arms quickly disappearing. _It worked. _

Harry grinned, allowing himself a small victory dance. Nothing the Order had assigned him came this fast; it had taken him nearly a month to learn how to conjure even the simplest items.

He breathed in his new and exotic freedom. Even better than his invisibility cloak, he didn't run the risk of unintentionally revealing himself. Harry took off his glasses, amazed when they reappeared on the table the second he let go of their frame.

He jerked at a small noise, spinning around to find the source. For reasons unknown to him, Harry decided to leave the charm on, even if it was just some first year sleepwalking.

The noise grew more pronounced — the shuffling of feet — coming from the girls' stairs. Harry swallowed the vague feeling that it might be Ginny, his stomach twisting at the idea.

Fate, divine intervention, and the position of Jupiter have all been credited for bizarre and strange coincidences. Harry personally felt that karma had a very twisted sense of irony.

For in fact, it was Miss Weasley ambling down the stairs in all her nightgowned glory. She paused at the bottom and cocked her head to one side, listening.

Without thinking, Harry's legs swept him across the room, standing before her. He had a hundred reasons to stay away, all of them pounding in his head. But as the boy took in everything about the girl in front of him, they burned into ashes. Time seemed to have stopped, or at least slowed into a murky web of present and future.

Ginny smiled slightly, staring at a space just left of where he was standing. The window to her side reflected her profile, as sharp, brilliant hues of red met the cold night. Harry was certain he could feel a sort of magic crackling through the air. It was like a dream . . . He felt his heart slam painfully against his ribs, certain that even if he _was_ invisible, she could hear the hear it's erratic beat.

To his sheer amazement, Ginny found his eyes — though surely she couldn't have!— and held his gaze. "I thought you'd be here," she murmured softly, somehow probing his bodiless face.

Harry stepped nearer to her. He couldn't risk speaking, she'd know his voice in an instant. _If she hasn't a clue yet anyway . . ._ Harry glanced to his right, spying a used quill left on the table. He aimed his disillusioned wand at it and cast a tricky spell Flitwick had the sixth years learn earlier that year.

The feather sprang to life, scribbling on a bit of parchment. He levitated the scrap paper over to where the two were standing, watching as Ginny read it's message.

_I won't hurt you._

She smiled again. "I believe you." She took the floating parchment, caressing the edges lightly. "I know I shouldn't," a shadow flickered across her face. "But I do. I can feel it."

She was staring over his head again so Harry took another step closer, drawing her attention nearer to it's target. "Why?" she whispered, her eyes looking through him.

Harry flicked his wand again, wanting very badly to stop the silly spell concealing him. And yet . . . he felt compelled not to. The Boy-Who-Lived knew he was making a grievous error, and still he couldn't bear for her to know the truth — that he was too cowardly to approach her like a man. Shadows and whispers would have to do. Aside from all of that, maybe the biggest reason why he couldn't part with the invisible anonymity, Harry felt Ginny wouldn't give him half a chance this way.

Confiding in a bodiless stranger came easy to the siren in front of him, but he knew that the two of them, seeing each other in "real life" would never feel the palpable chemistry surging so freely between them now. It was stupid and surely wouldn't last. But it was all he had and Harry intended on using it.

_I had to._

"Articulate, there," she muttered softly.

Harry raised his hand, gently cupping the edge of her jaw line with his palm, the same palm she had shaken earlier. It was an odd sight, to see Ginny nestle into what looked like nothing but air.

Harry allowed himself another step closer, caressing her soft skin, giving in to the spell of madness. He could smell the faint traces of ginger and something flowery now and felt her trembling slightly beneath her white nightdress.

Harry clasped her other hand with his, slowly bringing her palm to his lips. He lingered only a moment, gently releasing her porcelain hand like the most delicate of snitches. He felt as if on the edge of a very high cliff, an instant away from soaring past all boundaries. The thought frightened and thrilled him.

"Who are you?" He barely heard the question, spoken as soft as the wind. Harry knew what his next move would be even before it registered in his conscious. He tipped her head upward, and brought his mouth to hers in one motion, plummeting off the cliff with a reckless leap.

Harry's eyes jolted open, though he didn't remember closing them. Blood surged through his system, burning within him in a frenzied whirl. He felt like he'd swallowed an entire cauldron full of ice water. Harry wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing Ginny closer to him, aware only of far too much space between them.

He fumbled for her lips, again and again, knowing he was clumsy at it, but not caring. Harry drank her in, feeling the burn of her lips. He could very well spend hours kissing her — the rest of his life maybe. It was as though he'd never eaten before, and now beheld a feast of kingly proportions. Fire and ice alternately flooded Harry's senses.

Harry was flying — falling — soaring. It was a terrifying feeling, and at the same time so breathtakingly magnificent that he'd give all the gold in Gringotts to have her all the time. Nothing existed but the two of them, caught in the realm of now.

Tomorrow Ginny'd go back to whatever boyfriend she had, tomorrow Harry would still be caught between his best friend and that friend's sister, tomorrow they'd return to a tentative friendship.

But for one last searing moment, Harry Potter had captured the heart of Ginny Weasley. His embrace grew more intense, drawing her another inch closer, conveying through her mouth the desperate desire threatening to engulf him. Harry understood perfectly why neither Dean nor Michael could forget her. His chest soared; he could have run to Wales and back on the adrenaline burning through his legs.

Ginny's knees buckled against him, her body slipping against his. He slowly let her go, still breathing heavily, only now aware his hands and legs were shaking. Harry stepped back, his hand still wound in Ginny's flaming hair. Her eyes had misted over, her lips red and raw. Harry gave the beautiful witch one last kiss on the corner of her mouth and darted up to his room, head spinning.

He'd just had the most fantastic snog of his life and the girl didn't even know who he was.

* * *

**A.N.:** Sorry so late- was trapped in Las Vegas for 10 days with no computer. Bit of a problem there. I hope you like this one- I apologize for any grammar errors, I'm out the door for a week of camp right now.

Oh, and I'm really late!

**SugarQuill12:** Thank you for the review! I adore the Marilyn Monroe movie, which _is_ where the title of this was adopted. Good call! The link between them is a little far fetched: no cross-dressing (sorry) but Harry does disguise himself up to get more of a chance with the girl.

**Livyd** Erm . . . I know Ireally like my story . . . that's why I'm writing it! Do you like it? (lol) Thanks for the review though.

**Rick Peterson: **Thank you for the completely honest review. I thought a lot about your concerns and I hope explaining some of what went into those scenarios will help. First, I_ do_ think that Neville has it a bit worse than Harry. They both have incredibly terrible heart-breaking tragedy in their lives, make no mistake, but I honestly think that it's more painful to live with the knowledge that your parents are alive yet incapable of any of the things that truly make a person. Neville has spent all his life watching his helpless parents, knowing that they can't recognize their son. His pain won't go away with time (until they do die). Every time he visits his mom and dad, I cannot imagine the emotional hell he must go through.

Second, while I heartily agree that Ginny crossed some major boundaries in what she said to Harry, her transgression isn't unforgivable. The storyline I wrote said that Ginny and Sirius spent an awful lot of time together over the summer, and while he was part of Harry's family, please remember that Ginny has a very strong bond with him as well. She probably misses him close to as much as Harry does. Unlike James and Lily, who she never shared anything with, Ginny does have some right.

Third, in the course of the entire fight, Harry also said "inexcusable" things. He accused Ginny of only wanting him for his scar, shunned the entire Weasley family— especially her — and played the "no one understands me" card, which is bullocks. To some degree, Ginny can't be blamed for losing her temper; better people have done worse.

Lastly (finally!), Ginny wasn't going to apologize for the _entire_ row. Who knows what she was going to say before Harry cut her off? Also, in the last row, Ginny has no idea that her Sirius comment caused so much pain. The main point was that she was clueless about what really set him off. And after all the fighting, they both needed to make up.

**Noname**: There's a town in CO called "No name." Any coincidence? But really, thanks for the review, I try to make it realistically dark-ish (war, anyone?) in the background, yet not to the point of thick depression/angst. I'm glad to see I hit my target for one person, anyway.

**ChibiMangaAngel** Thank you! I love it when stories make me laugh- it's nice to see mine could do it too. Keep writing!

**Cheers**

**WQ**

Please review. I cannot tell you how much it means to me. I love you guys more than my bowling shoes.


	6. How did it end up like this?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to J.K. Rowling. Also, inspiration for part of this fic was from another called . . . I can't remember it's name. Details in profile.

This chapter is dedicated to** Abvj** for making me feel all fluffy inside. Killer post-HBP one shot, by the way.

* * *

Harry didn't sleep that night. His heart still felt like it was caught somewhere in his throat, his palms were sweaty, and his pulse racing. He tossed and turned in his bed for an eternity, thinking about last night.

Harry dressed early, his mind split. He couldn't deny kissing Ginny had been . . . marvelous, stupendous, earth-shattering, and addicting. His lips were just a bit fuller than usual, and the shirt he wore last night still smelled like something flowery. Harry felt that if he had to face all the dementors in Azkaban, the memory of kissing Ginny would knock them cold. The wizard couldn't help the stupid grin that plastered itself on his face; every other second his chest filled with the memory, triggering his smile. Hermione would want to know how he had managed to perfect his Cheering Charm ever so well.

Harry's heart skidded to a stop. On the other hand, he hadn't missed the tiny moral hiccough that twinged in his stomach. Brilliant as she was, Harry knew Ginny wouldn't be too keen on the idea of playing hostess to his double life.

But hadn't she already? Harry's stomach turned over. He couldn't imagine randomly kissing some bodiless . . . thing. Looking back on it, he found the idea a bit – well– sick. Who didGinny _think _she was snogging, anyway?

Still, he respected her. They were friends. Friends don't go around kissing each other incognito. Ginny would absolutely flip if she found out. _And it serves you right_, a voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione's chided. _Using her, taking advantage . . . never again, Harry_.

**Never again**. The thought made him sick.

Harry knew sneaking around and snogging pretty girls were frowned upon by the ethics authorities, but he hadn't really planned it. It just . . . happened. And might . . just . . . happen . . . a bit more often.

On accident.

Completely unplanned.

It wasn't really lying, anyway. And he wouldn't be so compelled to kiss her if Ginny weren't so charming and sexy in the first place. Besides that, Harry justified, if he had half a chance with her as it was, they could have a proper romance. But_ no_ . . . all he got for his mild obsession was a probation friendship.

_Bloody Dean._

The plain and simple truth was that Harry just liked her. Kissing Ginny was a dream. Was it really such a crime to want more?

_Yes._ His mind answered. Harry was torn. How did such a good thing end up so bloody complicated?

"'S'up Harry? You look peaky." Harry grunted at his friend, trying very hard not to be ashamed by what Ron didn't know. Not for the first time was The-Boy-Who-Lived glad Ron hadn't learned Legimens.

"Nothing. Ready for breakfast?" The two wizards met up with Hermione and made their way down to the Great Hall.

Harry poked at his eggs, thankful for the distraction. His N.E.W.T. preparatory classes would surely shove all things Ginny from his head. Yet Merlin had other ideas in store for the bespectacled wizard. Just then — curse of curses —the witch that had his senses defenseless sat next to him and began loading her plate with toast.

"Morning," Ginny chirped. She smiled at him. Harry's heart did a funny leap. He'd never been more thrilled or terrified to see anyone, and here she was — completely nonchalant and chipper. Harry hastily turned back to his plate, ignoring the loud ringing in his ears.

If he hadn't have been there, Harry wouldn't have guessed that less than 12 hours ago, Ginny had been snogging her face off in the Common Room. And now . . . she was sitting cool as a cucumber, chatting with Demelza, buttering her _toast_, for the love of magic. _Well, what did you expect? A great, neon sign flashing the words 'I snogged Harry last night — but don't really know that' over her head?_

Harry smiled, pleased to note her mouth looked a little swollen as well.

"Say, Gin, you look awfully happy about something. Malfoy eat it?" Ron glanced over at the Slytherins. "Nope. Can't hurt to hope, though."

Harry whipped his attention back to his side, where Ginny had just bitten into a sausage. She crinkled her nose at her brother, disguising what may have been a very faint blush. "Dunno what you mean."

"He's right, you know," Harry prodded, "You look a bit off. Anything up?"

The witch shook her head, chewing happily on a muffin. "Oh, I have it," Hermione laughed. "That Goldstein bloke finally asked you out, did he?" Harry choked on his juice, eyes wide. _That no good, dirty rotten, womanizing, evil, Ravenclaw . . ._

"Yea, he did." Ron spit his hot cereal out on the table making a strangled sort of sound. "WHAT!"

Ginny broke off another piece of muffin, wrinkling her nose at her brother. "Relax. I said no." Harry felt relief swell in him like a balloon. "Honestly," she smirked, turning toward Harry. "Some friend. Don't you know me better than that? I barely met him."

_Yes. Of course I know you better than that, you beautiful, charming, witty, lovely, er — what else? _

"I know things," Harry shot, as an unexplainable need to prove he did know her surged through him. The wizard missed Hermione's raised eyebrows across the table and her pointed look at Ginny, which she swiftly ignored.

"Favorite colour?" Harry gulped, his heart performing a frenzied dance. Ginny had shifted in her seat to face him, her shin now flush against his leg. She bit off another piece of toast, casually licking a stray crumb off her bottom lip. It suddenly became very hard to form a sentence. His brain felt as if it had been scrambled. _Kiss good kiss me nice Ginny brilliant crumbs lick taste like cinnamon hidden—_

"Thought so." She smiled cheekily, gathering her books. "Until then, Green eyes."

"No, er —" Harry watched as Ginny swept away, saluting the table briskly. "—wait," he muttered to his eggs.

xXx

Harry was still brooding later that day in Advanced Transfiguration. Some part of him wondered if it was entirely normal to become so obsessed with a girl, but a quick glance at Ron– who was staring attentively at Hermione's profile, glassy eyed – assured him he wasn't alone.

Ginny's brush off at breakfast had disturbed him more than Harry cared to admit. Especially when he couldn't argue with her as readily as he'd supposed.

Harry drew idly on the parchment he was supposed to be taking notes with. A small smile wormed its way onto his face when the wizard found himself embellishing the initials GW encased in a small snitch.

_Well they ended up married, didn't they?_

He indulged himself in replacing the W with a P. Harry's imagination conjured up a picture of Ginny in white . . . standing next to him . . . wearing a veil . . . wearing no--

The boy jerked himself up straighter in his chair, warily glancing at Ron. Harry didn't want to know what his friend would say about the turn of his fantasies. Of course, the redhead in question had probably been entertaining the same thoughts about Hermione for years now. Harry smiled wryly; Ron could be his best man.

Still though, he couldn't shake the heavy feeling in his stomach that had been there since breakfast. He knew, quite literally, most everything about Ron.

_Favorite colour: orange. Aspiration: to collect Agrippa's Chocolate Frog card. Fear: spiders. _Simple.

But then, why was it so hard to understand his sister? Harry sighed, he wanted to be a good friend, wanted to know those things about Ginny, but everything was . . . different – harder, when it came to her.

Harry imagined his father was somewhere laughing at him. From what Lupin had said, James became quite the Evans expert when he was at Hogwarts. Harry felt something jolt in his chest. His dad – Marauder, lady's man, kindred seeker-- would know how to get Ginny's attention. And he could do it perfectly visible.

Harry slowly grinned, resolve strengthening; surely he couldn't be a total loss. It was in his blood. The wizard freshened his quill and in bold letters wrote at the top of his parchment used for notes: **Things I Know About Ginny Weasley**.

_1. Has a horrendous Weasley temper. Worse than mine. (Not that I've got a **Weasley **temper. Wonder how she'd make use of a Potter temper.)_

_2. V. Grown up (PRETTY) witch._

_3. Especially adept at hexes, jinxes, curses, and other revenge-getting spells. Bat-Bogey specialty._

_4. Swishy, long, red hair. Fun to run fingers through. _

_5. Brilliant at Quidditch._

_6. Excellent snogger. _

_7. Used to sleep with Harry Potter doll. Doesn't want real thing. (Sigh) _

_8. Doesn't cry anymore._

_9. _

Harry paused, quill poised over the paper. He racked his brains, not at all satisfied with his meager list.

"Hey, Ron," he whispered, poking his friend with his wand.

"What?"

"What does Ginny like to eat?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Dunno. Why do you care?"

Harry shrugged noncommittaly. "Er – just wondered."

"Mr. Potter, Weasley," Professor McGonagall was glaring stonily at them through her spectacles. "I am unaware of anything more pressing than my lesson at the moment, but since you two seem to know otherwise, won't you enlighten us?"

"No, Professor," Harry ducked his head, hastily shoving the offending parchment towards his bag . He couldn't imagine the humiliation should McGonagall know what he'd been doing.

Unfortunately, Harry was about to find out.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall was staring at him, her hand outstretched expectantly. Harry felt himself grow hot all over.

"Y-yes?" Her mouth pressed into a tighter line.

"May I see what is obviously far more important than the notes I have assigned?"

Harry blushed harder, willing himself to disappear. The entire class was now staring at him. He knew Hermione was watching him with disgust. "It's really nothing," he mumbled.

"Mr. Potter, you are trying my patience."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and handed over his list. He buried his flaming face in his hands, never so embarrassed in his life. An eerie silence stretched over the class waiting seconds– hours– an eternity as McGonagall scanned the paper. Someone sniggered a few seats away. "Please see me after class," she intoned, folding the incriminating paper in her robes.

Harry groaned in his hands. Professor McGonogall wasn't a woman to take lightly; he knew that from the first time he met her. And the boy had a sinking feeling that she wouldn't tolerate such nonsense as who fancied whom in her class.

Worse yet . . .Ginny took transfiguration. She'd know he was a cowardly berk by dinner. It'd be all over the castle: Boy-Who-Lived Stalks Redhead. Why, oh why, did McGonagall have to take his list?

"At least it wasn't Snape," Ron whispered. "What were you doing? And why –"

"Shut up!" hissed Hermione. The lesson lasted seeming eons. Harry was so distracted with thoughts of his imminent doom he accidentally set Ron's sleeve on fire when they paired up to practice the spell.

"Aya, Harry! Watch it," Ron yelled, dousing his arm with water.

By the end of the hour, Hermione still hadn't forgiven him for interrupting class, Ron was dripping wet in rather a bad temper, and Harry's sinking feeling felt like an anvil.

"Well, good luck, mate," Ron offered. Hermione shot him a 'well, you deserve it' look and together they sped off.

Harry rubbed his temples; he'd never be able to look McGonagall in the eye again.

The professor cleared her throat, folding her arms. "Sit." He sat. "Mr. Potter, I am appalled that a student who is in his sixth year has no more self control during class than a troll." Harry winced. "Is it true?" she asked sharply.

Harry started, his cheeks heating agin. "Er – yea." He wondered about adding 'sorry' to his confession. It seemed appropriate.

He peered up at the resolute face of his professor. The line of McGonagall's mouth seemed to have lessened slightly. Harry was sure he had imagined it, but something like a dimple flashed in her cheek. She sat behind her desk, peering at him intently.

"I suppose you'll be wanting this back?" she asked crisply, pulling the folded note from her pocket.

_No, let's burn it. And stomp on the ashes._ "Thanks," he mumbled, stuffing the paper in his fist. _Just let me go . . . give me punishment, have a good laugh, and let me go._

"You are," she shook her head slowly, her eyes a touch glassy. "so like your father."

Harry didn't know what to say. Professor McGonagall was staring at him with an odd blend of emotions. A half-smirk might have flashed across her mouth, he couldn't tell, it didn't seem likely. Something was off, McGonagall looked like she was doing some fast thinking.

"You know that I have no tolerance for misconduct in my classroom, Potter. And however . . . sensitive your reason, I must insist that it never happen again."

"No, Professor."

"You may report back here for detention this evening. That will be all."

"What? Detention? For writing notes?" He'd expected points off or a sharp rebuke, but tonight was the first free evening he had in a week. It wasn't fair. Lavender and Parvati were caught at least twice a week for sharing notes, smuggling in magazines, and giggling loudly in class. They never had to give up their free night for it.

McGonagall stared at him coldly. "That will be all."

Harry trudged to his next class, cursing under his breath. He was determined to stay focused in Herbology, despite what his mind might dream up about redheads. Harry unclenched his fist, note still crumpled inside it. The scrawl that caught his eye wasn't his, but a pinched, slanted, cursive.

_9. Miss Weasley enjoys sugar quills._

Harry got over his shock quickly, a slow grin replacing his look of disbelief. He glanced over his shoulder at the empty transfiguration classroom with wide eyes, slowly shaking his head. _Whaddya know._

xXx

"Stop grousing about it and go," Hermione tsk-ed, hands on her hips. "And I still can't believe she didn't give you detention," she added, rounding on Ron.

He shrugged. "Maybe she likes me better." Hermione coughed loudly, hiding a snicker. Ron scowled.

"Right then," Harry said loudly, choking the impending row. "I'll be going." He dashed out of the portrait hole, Ron's sputtered rebuttal fading from earshot.

Harry arrived in the transfiguration room with minutes to spare. "Evening, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall.

"Evening," he replied stiffly, taking his seat. Sugar quills or not, he hadn't yet forgiven her for demanding his free night.

"You'll please copy the following during this detention," McGonagall flicked her wand and shimmering words appeared on the blackboard, written in her pinched cursive: _I will not act like a lovesick fool during class._

Harry blushed. _One time. One time, honestly._

"Now, I hope you will –"

The door burst open and a tumble of red and black spilled in, quickly slamming it shut. "I am so sorry, Professor –" said a female alto.

"Ginny?" Harry choked, eyes darting from the breathless school girl to his teacher.

"– Peeves . . . outside . . . syrup all over . . . ran here . . . sorry." she threw her bag unceremoniously on her desk and straightened her robes, breathing heavily. Harry started, his jaw open. No way.

"Very well, Miss Weasley. I shall take care of it. Your lines–" she flicked her wand in the same manner as before. "–are on the board."

_I will not use merchandise from my brothers in class._ The witch glanced at the board, stifled a giggle, and nodded obediently. "Yes, Professor."

Harry sat motionless, staring at McGonagall and Ginny in turn. "Er – Professor, why –?" A loud crash sounded outside, someone shrieked, and Harry could hear students swearing.

"Excuse me," McGongall shook her head. "And_ do_ behave," she added, giving them a hard look before leaving. But in the half second before McGonagall shut the door again, Harry caught a glimmer of something . . . just perhaps. . . she winked? _Not even, Potter._

Harry shifted, uncomfortable with the sudden turn of his day. He grimaced, acutely aware of the pregnant silence that stretched between them.

_Oh, hello awkwardness. I've missed you. How's the family?_

"Er– Harry? You're staring at me."

The wizard jerked out of his chair, accidentally knocking over his inkwell. "Damn." He brushed his sleeve over the ink spatters, smearing his robes. "Was I?"

Ginny nodded. "Scourgify." The ink vanished. She stretched her arms, propping her feet on her desk. "Lovesick fool, eh?" she asked, nodding at the board. Harry felt his cheeks flame. "What was that about?"

"Nothing."

"Hmm."

"What's 'hmm' supposed to mean?"

Ginny grinned. "Nothing."

Harry snorted. "You've really got lines, then? Not just here because McGonagall said I . . ." he trailed off.

She sighed loudly, her expression similar to Fred and George when they reminisced about 'the good ole days of Hogwarts.' "Almost. I was this close to skiving punishment. Then that idiot Colin had to blow my cover. Shame; the toffees had really good results. But yea . . . I got busted fair and square. Day before yesterday, actually."

"Oh." _McGonagall, you cad._

"Oh," she agreed. "So who is she?"

Harry's heart leapt. "I don't know what you're talking about." _She's sitting in your chair, wearing your robes – and doing a right good job of it–, her name's Ginny . . . ._

The redhead 'hmm-ed' again, sliding closer to where he was sitting. "Because I get_ lovesick_ over switching spells, too." Another pause. "Is she pretty?"

_Yes._ "I'm doing my lines." Harry reached for his quill._ I will not–_

"Defensive about Nothing, aren't we?" Ginny unwrapped a Chocolate Frog, slowly nibbling off one of it's feet. Harry heard the scratching's of her quill in the background.

"How're you –?"

Ginny waved her arms dismissivly. "Gred and Forge's latest. It's a charmed quill that does lines by itself. You just tell it what to write and it'll do it for hours." she said.

Harry swallowed. The detention-quill seemed uncannily similar to what he had done last night.

"Of course," she continued. "It's only useful if the teacher has left. I didn't think I'd get to try it out so quickly."

"Wow," he said appreciatively. She tossed him his own enchanted feather which began scribbling in his handwriting.

Minutes later, Harry and Ginny were both seated on his desk top sharing Chocolate Frogs. "Wonder where McGonagall went," the boy mused.

The witch shrugged. "This is kind of cool, though."

Ginny's legs dangled off the desk, idly swinging. She had a bit of chocolate smeared in the corner of her mouth and candy wrappers littered the area around them. "Yeah, it is," he agreed.

"Do you wanna know something . . . odd?"

Harry smiled. "Yes."

"Ron used to say that life was like a game of chess."

Harry coughed on his frog. "Chess," he gasped, eyes watering.

"Mmm," Ginny lowered her voice into what she thought sounded like Ron's. "You never know when some good looking knight's gonna smash it's way through your pawns to get a crack at the queen." Harry tried to stifle his raucous laughter when he saw her determinedly somber face.

"Deep," he breathed, holding back a howl of glee with great effort.

"Yes," Ron's sister mused, "Right after Lockhart. Didn't know he had it in him."

Harry's stillborn laughter demanded release. In an odd battle of wills, a cross of something between a snort and a loud guffaw broke from his mouth. Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. You sound like a hog. Taking lessons from Millicent?"

"Jealous?"

"Oh yes, Potter. Oh yes."

Harry smiled. If he leaned back . . . just a little bit . . . another centimeter . . . _there_. Harry could feel her side flush against his. Ginny shivered slightly against him, sending tingles of his own through his arm. The boy decided right then that if he never got to snog Ginny Weasley again – visible or not – he'd be okay as long as he could sit with her, like this, all the time.

"I dunno why I remembered that just now," she murmured. Harry felt her shift imperceptibly, just enough to comfortably lean against him.

They're conversation went on – once again proving how easy this Weasley was to talk to, how much life she had. Just underneath the easy banter, though, Harry found himself engaged in a silent game of chess. Ginny would shift a bit closer, he'd counter by lightly brushing against her arm. She coughed, replacing her arm closer to him than it had been; he'd "accidentally" nudge her foot. Harry wasn't sure how much of it was in his head, or coincidental, but his stomach lept every time regardless.

"Did Goldstein really ask you out?" He casually circled her bare knee with one of his fingers. Her move.

She nodded lazy. "I said no, remember?" Harry shrugged. "You might have said as much for Ron's benefit."

Ginny glanced at him then, smirking. "Besides, I've got my eye on something better."

Harry felt a flash of heat sweep through him, blazing in the pit of his stomach. He unconsciously moved back, recoiling his hand. "So, you're seeing someone?" he fought to keep his voice casual.

Ginny smirked. "Funny you should say that." She let out a long, slow, sigh, leaning back on her elbows, completely removing herself from him. Checkmate. "Don't tell any of the blokes on my waiting list, but . . . no. There's . . . the possibility of someone, though. And that's enough."

Harry didn't understand. He knew she was – sort of – with someone. _Well, not technically. And not morally, or ethically, or . . ._ A hush stole over the two, each lost in their thoughts.

"You're right," Harry said at length, mulling over her words. Suddenly his brazen vow earlier seemed inadequate. He didn't know if he could stop at friendship, not when he'd tasted more.

To his relief she giggled. "Alright, you're done." she hopped off the desk, gathering the wrappers. "Let's go."

Harry blanched. "Without McGonagall?"

She shrugged. "It's ten. Detention's over."

He gathered his bag, catching up to Ginny in the hall. They walked in silence back to the Portrait Hole. Ginny was chewing on her fingernails, her shoes making soft scuffing sounds on the stone floor. Harry wanted to say something, to tell her detention had been fun . . . anything to cut through the thick tension that replaced her easy going attitude.

Two more floors and they'd be back to the Common Room. Harry couldn't shake the sense of disappointment filling him. He supposed that's what had stilled the conversation; however trite, he missed Ginny already.

"I had fun tonight," he offered, his tenor echoing around them. Ginny looked up, shadows from the torches highlighting her hair.

"Me too . . . oddly enough."

"Hey Gin," Harry stopped in front of her, watching her face with interest. "What's a bloke have to do to get off probation?"

She smiled – a genuine, full, smirk that set a couple butterflies loose in Harry's stomach. "Well, he'd have to cheat detention with me. And eat Ron's stash of Halloween candy that I nicked." She paused. "And promise to do it again sometime."

Harry held her gaze a second longer. "I promise." His mind zoomed into overdrive, dreaming up weekly rendezvous in various empty classrooms with her – laughing at something incredibly witty he said – sharing her favorite sugar quills – sitting together for hours. "Is that all?"

"Do you want more?"

The butterflies doubled. Harry licked his lips, only too aware of her query's double meaning. "I suppose not," he said airily.

Ginny smiled but said nothing, walking again. Her arm swayed loosely at her side. Harry briefly considered catching it, holding her hand back to the Portrait Hole. Would that be too forward for a friend?

_Probably._ Harry sighed, stuffing his hand into his robes.

Too quickly, they were staring at the Fat Lady. Harry hesitated; he didn't want to go in just yet. Ginny was fiddling with the frayed hem of her sleeve.

"They're Bill's, you know. After his fourth year, he grew about a foot . . . needed new ones . . . Mum altered these a bit to fit . . . well, a girl."

"Oh." Harry had no idea why she was telling him this. _Ginny's Mum did a good job._

"They're falling apart a bit. I guess we've had 'em nearly ten years."

"I think they're pretty." Harry felt himself redden. Ginny looked up at him, an eyebrow raised skeptically. "Really pretty," he repeated, looking away.

Ginny laughed. "Thanks. Well . . . Ron'll probably want to know where you've been all night."

Harry chuckled. "More like where all his Chocolate Frogs have gone."

"Yea . . . Oh, damn. I promised Colin I'd study with him tonight, too." Harry ignored the bout of jealousy that flooded his brain. "He'll get over it. Oh, and Harry?"

"Mm?" She stood on her tiptoes, dragging her thumb across the corner of his mouth. The butterflies in his stomach turned into dragons – fire breathing dragons with flapping wings. His blood began churning uncomfortably.

Ginny repeated the action again, this time meeting his eyes. "Chocolate," she half whispered, still on tiptoes. "You had a bit –"

"I know," he whispered back. He could very, very easily kiss her there, Harry decided. He still had her hand in his from where he caught it, her other arm loosely holding on to his shoulder. Something closed in his throat, rendering his voice a touch huskier than usual."Hey Gin –"

"Are you two going to stay there all night or what?" The Fat Lady interrupted, scowling.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Pixie Dust." The hole opened obediently. The redhead turned back to Harry, smiling slyly. "Goodnight."

"Good –" but then it became very hard to think of what came next because Ginny had given him a swift brush on the cheek and disappeared into the Common Room.

Harry fingered the spot on his cheek, still burning from her lips. He swore softly to himself and slid down the stone wall, more frustrated and confused than when he had woken up.

* * *

**Slugabed: **I hope you caught the subtle tribute to your amusing review in this chapter. Lol. I know the invisible idea's strange but I'm channeling the Ghost (movie) vibe. In the scene where Patrick Swazey and Demi Moore are dancing together near the end it's a little sick to think about Demi dancing with Whoopi Goldberg like that so what we're shown is she and Patrick. Less sick, yeah? That's what I was going for. And . . . the most mysterious bit of it all. Does Ginny know who it is or doesn't she? I'm not telling!

**dress-without-sleeves:** Wow. I'm so excited you liked it. That makes my heart feel fuzzy.

**R.Winter/Hayley:** I try to watch the American-isms, but they slip in anyway. All my writing is based off the books (duh) and_ two _British movies I own. (Monty Python doesn't count) Could you please help point specifics out when I mess up? Thanks. And the Dean/Michael thing was supposed to be outlandish to the point of hyperbole. It was fun to write. Lol

**Chelles: **Hmm . . . how _will_ Ginny find out? (grins) And, unfortunately, these kind of things just beg to blow up don't they? I hope it won't though . . .

**Fritz42:** Word.

**Koukla22: **Tingles are good. I have a feeling you'll like what comes next . . .

**Remussweetie: **Ah, I completely agree about the HBP thing. Though at the risk of sounding sacrilegious, I must say, I found the H/G to be too . . .abrupt. Of course, if I wrote HP, it wouldn't have plot so much as some torrid affair between Pince and Filch.

**Queen Tigress:** Way weird. Makes you wonder what Ginny's thinking, don't it? (Cackle)

**Sawyerxelda: **You are SO my best friend! Thank you. And yes, I read HBP, but was not satisfied w/ the romance in it. Sigh.

**Wolf's Scream:** I didn't have any agenda in mind when I wrote the ankle-sitting scene other than it would be fun to re-do the singing Valentine from 'Chamber.' Hmm . . . methinks I am niavee. Oh well. And Harry's glasses stayed off, but he's . . . nearsighted, so no worries. (Cough) The "bodiless stranger" line I meant just to refer to Harry . . . messed up on it. I edited it be more clear. Thanks for catching that one.

**A.N.:** Sorry I'm so late, guys. This chapter was a toughie and I don't think I like it very much. Bugger. Oh well, tell me what you think. The next one should be out faster; and I promise it'll be more interesting. I love you so much, you are my sunshine. Please _REVIEW_. Kisses for everyone! Not kidding, your feedback is what gets me through sticky writer's block and laziness.

_**Cheers**_

_**WQ**_


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